Fracture
by sienna27
Summary: TV Show Episode Title Challenge - Prompt Set #4 - Title Challenge: One Nation Under Surveillance - Late Season 4, Emily has a stalker.
1. Forced Entry

**Author's Note**: New multi-chapter fic. And though it might appear that I'm breaking my own rule about new story posting, I'm not really because I have drafts done to close out three stories over the next month. But drafts don't always get to final resolution as quickly as I'd like so rather than not put up anything while they're getting polished, I have this story (which I have literally been working on for MONTHS) to go up in the in between.

This is a whole other genre I really haven't done on a broad scale, drama/suspense (sans horror). It takes place late season 4, post Demonology, post Omnivore, pre Hell & Back. Emily has a stalker. You know I prefer to go a bit more unconventional but, what can I say? The story came to me through the prompt and the story wanted to be told.

Come at this basically from canon but also picture what was happening with them off screen to get them as close as they'd clearly become onscreen. So H/P's relationship is undefined at this point. They're just clearly bonded with a subtext of something more brewing.

* * *

**Prompt Set #4**

Show: Las Vegas

Title Challenge: One Nation Under Surveillance

* * *

**Forced Entry**

Hotch pulled into his parking spot and turned off the ignition. As he listened to the car tick while it cooled down, he let out a sigh of relief.

Christ it was good to be home.

Four days on the road tracking down a child molester out in Tucson. He was exhausted and stressed out and all he wanted to do was go inside and have a beer.

Okay, maybe three beers.

One way or another there would be alcohol and there would be something mindless on the television. For once he wasn't going to think about work or death or mayhem.

He was just going to relax.

As he reached over to grab his cell phone off the passenger seat, his brow wrinkled in confusion.

_What the . . .? How the hell did that happen?_

He had seven missed calls from Emily. Seven missed calls all in the last ten minutes.

A little ball of tension immediately began to form in his stomach. And as he opened the phone to call her back, he saw the little symbol was on for vibrate.

That's good Aaron . . . he rolled his eyes in disgust . . . very responsible.

Then he shook his sleep addled brain to focus again on the facts at hand. They had landed forty-five minutes ago, he left Emily in the Academy parking lot twenty-five minutes ago, and he's had seven missed calls from her in the last ten minutes.

Oh God . . . the little the ball of tension began to grow larger . . . what if she was in an accident?

Now feeling the delayed panic rising up . . . seven calls was bad no matter WHAT had happened . . . he hit call back on the phone.

She picked up on the first ring.

"I need you here NOW!" She cried in a harsh whisper, "Somebody's been in my apartment!"

Hearing the terror in her voice, Hotch's heart took a jolt as he put the phone to his ear and turned around to peel out again.

"On my way. Stay on the line," he pulled back out into traffic, "did you call the police yet?"

"Yeah," Emily nodded even though Hotch couldn't see her, "when I couldn't reach you I called them. They should be here any minute."

As she chewed her lip and anxiously tapped her gun against her thigh, Emily prowled up and down her hallway. At this point she was just waiting for either Hotch or the police to arrive.

Either would do.

Pushing down the stab of guilt at what he knew was an unintentional reproach . . . he _had_ only been out of touch for ten minutes . . . Hotch directed his attention back to what was important.

Her safety.

"I don't want you in your apartment," he said firmly as he sped through a yellow light, "stay in the hallway until either the officers or I get there, do you understand?"

Ordinarily he wouldn't feel the need to clarify orders with her, but when it came to her safety he wasn't taking any chances.

Emily took another step further away from her apartment door as she nodded again.

"Understood. I'm in the hall now. I only checked the downstairs, and then I realized I was way too freaked out to do a proper search alone so I tried to call you. And then I called 911 before I started trying you again. I haven't gone back inside though."

It was SO not the same doing a search of your own home as it was doing a search of someone else's. She couldn't turn off her horror at the realization that someone had been in there.

Someone had VIOLATED her space!

It was impossible to concentrate on procedures. And on the off chance that somebody _was_ still upstairs, he could very easily have gotten the jump on her.

She had known the only smart thing to do was to get out and get back up.

Hotch let out a sigh of relief.

"Okay, good. Stay there," he hit the brakes, "I'm pulling up now."

After the divorce he'd ended up getting an apartment that was barely a two minute drive from Emily's. It wasn't so much a coincidence as Emily was the one that had mentioned seeing the sign for vacancies in what was now his apartment building.

The short distance was definitely a lucky break tonight.

Hotch dropped down his visor with the FBI placard just before jumped out of the car. The echo of the door slamming shut, was still reverberating as he went pounding up her front steps.

His weapon at his side, and the sound of the approaching sirens could be heard in the distance.

After flashing his badge at the startled doorman, he slammed through the fire door on the other side of the elevators.

He went racing up the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time.

The more he thought about someone in her home . . . about someone possibly STILL being in her home . . . the more panicked he was getting.

Foyette was flashing like a neon sign in his brain.

But really, they dealt with so many sick, twisted people. If just one of them had found out where she lived . . . Jesus. Just the thought of it made his stomach flip.

And as he circled the fourth floor landing, he promptly slammed the door on those thoughts. They would do him no good at the moment.

Nothing was going to do him any good but seeing that she was safe.

And then suddenly picturing Foyette's face again, Hotch felt another shot of adrenaline hit his system as he pounded onto the fifth floor spiral.

'_Three more to go.'_

/*/*/*/*/*

_'WHAT THE **FUCK**?'_

Emily swore to herself as she whipped around, her weapon rising up as the fire door suddenly crashed open behind her.

And then she saw Hotch come flying through and immediately dropped her gun down again.

_Thank Christ!_

"Are you okay!" he asked in a near panic as he ran up and grabbed her arm.

Emily huffed out the breath she'd been holding.

"Yeah, yeah much better now that you're here," she clutched his arm, "but Hotch we have to go back inside! Daisy's in there!"

For a second Hotch stared at her in confusion, "Daisy?"

Then suddenly he remembered . . . her cat.

Daisy was her cat. A fact confirmed by Emily a split second later, "you know, my cat Daisy." Her voice started to get husky, "I feel so bad I forgot all about her until after I talked to you. If I'd remembered before I wouldn't have left her in there."

She really hoped that if she ever had children that she'd be a better mother than pet owner. Because she was feeling pretty horrible about forgetting the one little life she was responsible for preserving right now.

Feeling his expression soften at the distress in her voice, Hotch nodded.

"Okay, we can go back in now to get her," he gave her a firm look, "but I want you behind me."

It was obvious that she still too rattled to take point on anything. He trusted her implicitly to watch his back, but right now he didn't trust her to watch her own.

Emily's head jerked once as her eyes shot over to her closed door, "okay."

Then they turned and moved back down the hall to her apartment.

Emily had been standing guard outside, so if there was anyone still in there, they certainly hadn't gotten out. She lived on the eighth floor and there were no fire escapes or balconies from her windows.

Just a long peaceful drop to the concrete below.

After giving Emily one more quick appraisal . . . though she wasn't her usual collected self, she was still clearly capable of working . . . Hotch did the silent count at the door.

Rather than crashing into her unlocked apartment, they did a quiet entry as Hotch cautiously turned the knob before he pushed the red metal door.

It slowly swung open.

Fortunately Emily had turned on the lights when she came home, so the downstairs was fully illuminated.

Though Hotch's anxiety level was already through the roof . . . he couldn't get Foyette out of his head . . . it somehow shot up another notch as he took his first steps into the hallway.

A quick scope of the room immediately revealed what had alerted her to the intruder. And he could also see why she was still so rattled almost fifteen minutes later.

He was pretty fucking rattled himself.

In bright red letters written across her far wall were the words.

'_**WHERE ARE YOU EMILY?'**_

It wasn't so much writing as geometric slashes of paint.

You could see the rage behind the words.

Feeling his breath quicken, Hotch turned slightly to check on the woman behind him.

He knew it was stupid, but he just wanted to make sure that she was still there.

She of course was. But at the look of fear on her face, he had to restrain himself from reaching out and taking her hand.

It wasn't exactly the most professional urge. But this was clearly not a strictly professional moment. This was her home. They had guns drawn in her home.

And that was just wrong.

So he'd be okay with making physical contact to comfort her, but now was NOT the time. Now they were checking her apartment, making sure that there weren't any serial killers in her closets. In a few minutes he could hold her hand and lie and tell her everything was okay.

He then turned his attention back to the sweep. And even though Emily indicated that she'd already checked them once, they again cleared the laundry room, the hall closet and the small bathroom.

Unfortunately none of those locations held any sign of Emily's cat, so they had to keep looking.

They crossed the living room and Hotch covered Emily as she checked under the couch and end chairs.

Still nothing.

As she looked back at him he could see her eyes were beginning to get moist, and Hotch knew that they needed to speed this up before she started to lose it.

He tipped his head and they started over to the staircase.

As he passed the writing on the wall Hotch got a whiff of copper and he froze, his eyes immediately snapping over to Emily's.

Seeing the splash of horror on her face, he knew that she hadn't come this close to the lettering before.

Feeling the tears start to pool, Emily mouthed, "Daisy" to Hotch.

_Oh God! Please don't let that be kitty's blood! _

Hotch stood there with one foot on the riser, for a moment paralyzed with indecision.

He'd heard the sirens, the police would be here any minute. Maybe he should just take her back out into the hall and let them clear the upstairs. Because it was obvious how attached Emily was to her cat. And Hotch _really_ didn't want to walk her into some horrible desecration of its corpse.

Even if it wasn't a person, it was clear that she loved it. And . . . he swallowed . . . she shouldn't have to see something she loved in that condition.

Okay, that sealed it for him.

Just as he turned to start guiding Emily back outside, she suddenly bolted passed him to run up the stairs.

She didn't get more than one step above him before he caught her arm in a vice grip. Then his eyes snapped up to the open area above them to see if there was any movement.

Still quiet.

As she pulled on her arm, Hotch's gaze flicked back to hers and he vehemently shook his head and shot her a nasty glare.

"STAY behind me!" was the harsh whisper that followed.

_Jesus CHRIST! Thank God she didn't get this far into the room before he'd arrived! If she'd realized that was blood earlier she could have gotten herself killed running blindly up the stairs!_

Emily stared hard at him for a moment before jerking her chin defiantly up the staircase.

_Well, if we're going let's go,_ was what Hotch could clearly see was the sentiment there.

His jaw twitching in anger and agitation, Hotch looked up to the landing again before he gave Emily a cold appraisal.

He wasn't above throwing her over his shoulder and dragging her back out the door if he thought that she was going off half cocked.

But . . . though her eyes were still wet . . . she appeared to be in control of what she was doing.

Now she just seemed pissed.

Pissed was good. Pissed kept them alive.

Provided she did as she was told.

But she'd stopped trying to get her arm free, so he'd clearly made his point there. So he nodded, and then pulled her back down behind him before he started up the stairs again.

As they continued their upward ascent, out of the corner of his eye Hotch saw the flashing blue and red lights bouncing off the windows across the street.

The police were here.

But Emily was clearly going out of her mind with worry, and they'd already come this far so he decided to continue upwards. Though he hadn't been upstairs before that night, Hotch knew that her apartment couldn't be that large. Therefore most likely they'd be done with the sweep before the police even came through the front door.

He stepped onto the landing and froze again, listening.

The hallway was empty, everything seemed quiet.

Nothing was obviously wrong up here. So they quickly checked the bathroom, then the guest room and finally the hall closet.

They were all clear. The only room left was the one at the far end of the hall.

Emily's bedroom.

The door was shut.

He shot her a questioning look and she shook her head violently in response.

Okay . . . more adrenaline shot through his system . . . apparently she'd left this door open.

They did another silent count and Hotch took a breath before he kicked in the door.

Nobody.

But it was abundantly clear that someone _had_ been there.

He could see Emily was frozen in shock by the door, so alone Hotch checked the closet, the bathroom and under the bed before he came back over to her.

His voice was gentle as he tried to coax her out.

"Come on, let's go wait for the police."

Not only had her bedroom been completely trashed, but there was more writing on the wall.

'_DAISY MISSES YOU'_

From the metallic reek, Hotch knew that this one was also written in blood. But he took heart from the present tense conjugation. It implied that he hadn't killed her cat yet.

Or at least he hadn't killed it in her home.

Emily stared at the words on the wall and then her watery eyes tracked over the clothes thrown everywhere. Suddenly recognition began to dawn and her astonished gaze snapped over to Hotch.

"I THINK I KNOW WHO DID THIS!"

Just then they heard the police entering her apartment.

"POLICE! AGENT PRENTISS! ARE YOU IN HERE?"

That was was followed immediately by a slightly more subdued, "Jesus Christ Charlie, look at the writing!"

At that Emily winced, and all the anger seemed to go out of her.

She looked like she was about to cry.

Hotch finally dropped any pretext that this was a professional endeavor, and reached over to take her hand. When she looked up at him he squeezed her fingers tightly. But there was no time for conversation now, so he hurriedly led her back into the upstairs hall, calling out loudly, "FBI, WE'RE UP HERE!"

Though Emily's dramatic announcement clearly required further in depth discussion, the first priority at the moment was not getting shot by the local LEOs.

So to that end, Hotch pulled out his badge, holding it up clearly for the officers hurrying up the stairs with their weapons still drawn.

"Agent Hotchner," he tipped his head towards Emily, "Agent Prentiss, this is her home. We searched the upstairs. He's gone," he shot the older officer a look, "as is her cat."

Both officers' eyes widened as they looked over their shoulders and down the stairs at the bloody writing on the wall. When they looked back at Hotch, he jerked his head towards the bedroom as he started Emily down the staircase.

"In there too. Call your crime scene techs. If they're backed up let me know, and I'll call mine. We'll be out in the hall."

Ordinarily Hotch would be running the scene, but he wanted Emily out of the room. There was nothing more to be done in there until they processed the evidence anyway. He'd already come to a preliminary conclusion. This had nothing to do with any of their cases.

Emily had a stalker.

* * *

_A/N 2: If you read my stuff regularly you know I'm not a fan of 'damsely' Emily. I like Big Damn Hero Hotch, but not at the expense of the strength of Emily's character. So to be clear, this is not a Damsely Emily story. Granted, she's thus far not having a good evening, but she's not going to spend the whole story barefoot in the kitchen while Hotch goes out and saves the day._

_Tone wise, this will be heavier than some of the other relationship worlds, but beyond that I'm not really going to disclose much. Though I will say, don't throw any stones at me yet over the status of Daisy! Remember, still present tense! _

_And yes, I did call her cat Daisy in another story but I just thought the name fit for an Emily cat so I used it again._

_I have the first 6 chapters here done. Really, I've been working on this off and on for months. As I am wrapping up like 3 or 4 stories right now I thought this would be a good filler when I have nothing done on the other ones. So I guess maybe one a week. _

_I should have a Girl up sometime this weekend. And I think maybe a Communication Breakdown._


	2. Not What It Seems

**Author's Note**: I had planned to put this up a few days ago but Real life has rather painfully interfered with Fake Life this week.

This picks up immediately from the end of Chapter 1. Beyond that, just go with the chapter title.

Also, if aren't aware yet, FYI, Kavi and I put up new prompts this weekend on the challenge forum. Regular and two bonuses.

* * *

**Not What It Seems**

Knowing that essentially Emily's entire apartment was the crime scene, Hotch quickly guided her down the stairs and directly back out into the main hall.

For a moment they just stood there. He'd just wanted her out, but he hadn't considered yet where they were going to go.

As he looked down, Hotch could see that Emily's eyes were glued to an invisible spot on the carpet as she ground her teeth. Through her open door he could hear the chatter off the police radios.

The ETA on the crime scene unit was twelve minutes.

Even though Hotch knew that the police were within shouting distance, with the revelation that he'd just had he was suddenly very conscious of the amount of distance between him and the woman at his side.

And how quickly somebody can be snatched when they have a psychopath stalking them.

His eyes worriedly scanned the closed doors of the other apartments as he wondered if anyone was watching them. Feeling his nerves take another unexpected jolt, Hotch pulled slightly on Emily's hand to move her a little closer to his body. Then he looked down at her as he asked softly, "do you have a common room up here?"

He didn't like having this many access points around them when he didn't have the first clue about what was happening. All he knew for sure was that someone had broken into Emily's apartment, stolen her cat and written two notes in blood.

Fresh blood.

It was still red and it still smelled strongly of copper.

Emily blinked away the tears trying to pool as she focused in on Hotch's question, "what? Oh, um," she tipped her head as she started leading him to the other end of the hall, "laundry room. I have my own but there's a central one on each floor."

As she started to walk away, Emily felt Hotch tugging on her hand and she turned to look at him.

They stared at each other for a moment and then Emily's eyes began to water.

This was not happening to her. These things happened to other people. She knocked on their doors and they told her their stories.

She had never been the story teller before . . . she swallowed the lump forming in her throat . . . she didn't like it.

She didn't like it one bit.

Seeing that Emily was beginning to get physically upset, Hotch's expression softened. Ordinarily at this moment, the moment where the quote unquote 'victim,' began to get emotional, he called in Emily.

Emily took care of these things for him.

But . . . he released his grasp on her fingers, moving his hand up to the back of her neck instead . . . that clearly was not an option today. So he pulled her against his side, rubbing the tips of his fingers into the tight muscles.

This situation was seriously testing his routine physical boundaries with her. But he knew that was something he was just going to have to get over.

She needed someone and it was time for him to step up.

Actually . . . he bit his lip as he thought back . . . given how he'd let her down earlier this year it was past time for him to step up.

It took Emily only a second to shift over slightly into Hotch's space. It wasn't something they'd generally do, be so demonstrative. But it was definitely something . . . she wiped away a tear that leaked down her cheek . . . that she needed then.

Together, they continued the ten feet down the hall to the laundry room where Hotch hit the lights with the tip of his Glock.

Definitely empty.

Once they were inside he shut the door behind him . . . the police would call out for them when they needed them . . . and as he reholstered his weapon, he walked Emily over to the little couch facing the machines.

They sat down with a few inches of space between them.

He decided to give her a moment to pull herself together before he started talking. As he heard her sniffling at his side, he stared at the scars in the wood of the battered little coffee table in front of them.

After a moment he said softly, "tell me who did this and I'll take care of it."

They both knew what take care of it meant. And at his offer another wave of sadness passed through Emily and she winced.

It had come to this.

They had seen so much violence, so many women get killed by the system that wasn't equipped to deal with these situations, that now that she had become one of their case files, Hotch's default position was to handle things personally before any more harm could be done.

Eliminate the threat before the threat eliminates you.

It was as simple as that.

And though it saddened her that this was their life, it was still a very sweet offer. Though of course she knew that other people might find such a declaration a little alarming. But they weren't like other people.

Which is how they had become friends.

It was very gradual, but outside of JJ . . . who was now busy with her new family . . . Emily now felt closest to the man at her side. There was still so much they didn't say though.

But of course Hotch was a man who could say a lot without saying anything at all.

And as Emily focused in on the sense of safety that Hotch brought her, and then his many kindnesses to her over the past three years, she bit her lip and looked up at him with moist eyes. She cleared her throat.

"I have a stalker."

And then she cringed, waiting for the angry outburst.

But it didn't come.

Instead his brow darkened as he nodded, "I figured out that much. What's his name? What's he done before this?"

If he laid a hand on her he was dead. Hell, if this went the way it was shaping up to go he was probably dead anyway. But if he'd actually touched her, dead would not be a euphemism for anything but deceased.

After she took a breath, Emily sniffed and scrubbed her hands down her face. Then she started her story.

A story that she knew she should have told Hotch weeks ago.

"His name is Edward Lipsky."

Emily started softly and then she realized that she sounded timid so she cleared her throat and continued more confidently.

"He lives in Ballston. And it started with hang ups, then middle of the night phone calls with heavy breathing. At first I didn't think too much of it. I mean," she shook her head dismissively, "I didn't have any clue it was him. I thought it was just some kid maybe that had focused in on my number. It was only a minor thing, not enough of an issue yet to even warrant putting a trap on my phone," she bit her lip, "but then the calls became more persistent, a muffled voice asking what was I wearing, that sort of thing. So I did have the number traced," she swallowed as her gaze shifted over to Hotch's, "it was a guy I had dinner with last month."

For a second she paused to see if he was going to stop her, but as he tipped his head for her to continue, she went on to the next part of her story.

"I was," she shook her head as she thought back, "beyond shocked. It was a blind date and we'd only spent two hours of our lives together. There was no pretext that we'd be seeing each other again when I left him at the restaurant. Honestly I hadn't thought about him again since that day and all of a sudden I find out this guy has been making these weird phone calls. So anyway," she tried to get back on point, "I find out that he's my midnight caller so I call him. Remind him that I'm an FBI agent, which he'd known at dinner, and I tell him that if happens again I'm swearing out a complaint for harassment."

Seeing the look Hotch was giving her Emily shrugged a bit sheepishly, "I know, I shouldn't have contacted him myself but really Hotch, it was just . . . nothing. Just some stupid heavy breathing really. I wasn't going to ask for help handling some prick like that."

Hotch bit his lip. He understood her point, in her position he would have done the same thing. But still it would have been better if she hadn't rewarded him with contact.

But . . . his jaw twitched as he considered the blood in her apartment . . . that was now a moot point. And if he had escalated this quickly it probably wouldn't have changed the outcome tonight anyway. He gestured for her to continue as he asked softly, "when it did become more than nothing?"

"Uh," her fingers began to nervously run through her hair as she started to get more agitated, "two Mondays ago somebody started following me to work. I couldn't see the car exactly but you know sometimes you just know. And I _knew_ that somebody was tailing me. But it was always gone, the feeling I mean, before I got to the Academy. So it's not like telling the guards would have done much. But I was starting to get a little, um . . . spooked."

She trailed off for a moment. She still hadn't believed that it was happening. That's really why she hadn't mentioned it to the guards. If she'd said something at least they would have started watching for suspicious behavior. But she couldn't believe that she was becoming a person in a case file.

Somebody with a narrative next to her name.

Hotch's fingers brushed over her arm and she jumped.

"Are you all right?" He murmured, and she turned to give him a sheepish smile.

"Yeah, sorry, I drifted off for a second," she took a breath, "but anyway, I didn't really have anything specific to go on, honestly the phone calls had stopped so I wasn't even really thinking of Lipsky. I mean maybe in the back of my head I was but you know we deal with so many disturbed people that I started thinking that maybe I'd had something from work follow me home. But then on that Thursday I finally spotted the car. And I ran the plates and sure enough, it was HIM, again. Lipsky. But you know I still didn't really have enough to swear out a complaint. He hadn't approached me or called again, he just happened to be driving down the same street I was. Legally that was nothing. But then on the weekend I'm sure I saw his car parked in front of my building. I only saw it from the window though, and I'm so high up I couldn't swear an affidavit. So I asked the building manager for the security tapes out front. At the angle of the camera I could only see four numbers of the plate, but I ran them and the partial matched his sedan."

She bit her lip as she turned to look at her boss, "he showed up on the tapes on three different days."

Hotch's jaw started to twitch . . . this was CLASSIC escalation! And Emily knew that too. She KNEW that things were just getting worse! And that was two WEEKS ago!

A burst of rage came flying up out of nowhere.

'_SO WHY THE __**FUCK **__WAS THIS THE FIRST TIME HE WAS __**HEARING**__ ABOUT THIS?!' _He screamed in his head.

Then he took a breath to try to calm down . . . that rage that did them no good right now. He didn't have an UNSUB in front of him, he had Emily.

And she was clearly already terrified.

It's not like she'd screwed up on the job, this was her private life. And her private life was not subject to the same rules and regulations that her work life was. Though he wasn't at all happy that she hadn't come to him immediately when she'd realized things were getting out of control, he knew that his anger was for personal reasons, not professional ones.

She could have been hurt . . . he winced . . . killed.

She could have walked into her apartment tonight and been knocked cold, bound, gagged, raped and murdered. And he would have been called over there and he would have walked into that . . . he swallowed . . . that horror, and it would have killed him.

After everything that had already happened this year . . . all those deaths in Boston that were on his conscience . . . he wouldn't have been able to deal with that loss.

The loss of Emily.

But he could see no reason to remind her of that potential outcome. There was blood on her walls, and her pet was gone so clearly she'd already had an _'I told you so,'_ well beyond any additional chiding he could extend.

To add anything now would just be cruel.

So for her sake he tried to keep his anger under control as he looked at her. But he couldn't hide his frustration as he asked the question.

"WHY didn't you tell me about any of this!?" he asked in a harsh whisper, "God Emily, you KNOW I would have helped you!"

Emily's eyes started to water again as she looked away in shame, "I know you would have. But I didn't want to be a bother," she whispered, "we have enough of this crap going on at work. You shouldn't have to deal with it on your personal time too. It was bad enough I had to. In retrospect of course I wish I had told you, maybe things would haven't have gone this far," she looked back at him sadly, "but I honestly thought I had it under control. I brought the security video to the Alexandria police, I explained the background to them, gave them the report from the phone company documenting the earlier calls and I took out a restraining order. Then I printed off his driver's license photo and I gave it to property management and all of my doormen. Legally I did everything that I could do. If he showed up in front of my building again I was planning on having him locked up."

Her voice cracked at the end and Hotch's anger faded away.

_How could he stay mad at her when she was so upset?_

He tipped his head down, reaching over to pick up her hand as he said softly, "why didn't you?"

A tear ran down Emily's cheek, "I never got a chance. I got a call while we were away that they'd served him," she thought back, "that would have been two days ago now."

Her voice broke, "I can't believe he took my cat," she looked up at him desperately, "Hotch she doesn't go outside! And I don't give out my keys to the neighbors. If we're out of town longer than three days then my friend Kelly, you know Kelly Hsu from White Collar, she comes over and checks Daisy's water and food. So with the exception of my parents, there aren't any other keys out there except for the one I gave you for emergencies."

Everyone on the team had traded keys with someone else. After what happened to Elle, Hotch liked to make sure that they all had a buddy. And given that he and Emily lived so close now it made sense that they switch. So they'd traded from their previous respective partners, Dave and JJ.

Fortunately he'd never had occasion to use her emergency key so his was accounted for, it was still on his key chain. Of that he was sure because he'd seen it tonight when he was sliding the car key into the ignition.

Emily continued worriedly, "there was no sign of a break in when I got home. The door wasn't open. The deadbolt was still set. I didn't know anything was wrong until I went inside and saw the writing. And I checked the lock while I was waiting in the hall, there aren't any scratches. Somehow he just got in."

The tears that had been threatening for the last ten minutes, began to slide down her face, "what if that's her blood? I know that he took her," her voice cracked again, "the cops served him and he took her. If he hasn't killed her yet then if I send them over again then he'll probably . . ." her face contorted in grief, "probably nail her to my door or something!"

Oh God . . . her hands came up to cover her face as she began to sob . . . poor kitty!

Seeing the river of tears, Hotch bit his lip as he tentatively reached over and put his hand on her back.

Trying to sooth her, he started rubbing slow circles as he leaned over and whispered in her ear, "shhh, it's okay. We'll get her back. You know he only took her to force contact again. He wants to see you so he wouldn't have killed her. And you saw the writing, it was present tense."

Hotch couldn't go so far as to say Lipsky hadn't hurt her though. The blood on the wall was . . . he bit the inside of his cheek . . . worrisome to say the least. There were only two options, animal blood or human blood.

Neither option held any appeal.

Though . . . a third possibility came to him . . . perhaps if it was pig's blood or something else from the butcher shop then things wouldn't be quite so dire.

Emily nodded as she tried to get her tears under control, "I know," she sniffled, "I know he's trying to force contact but I don't know how to fix this Hotch."

And she hated that it had come to this. That she had to cry to her boss because she'd so fucked up her personal life that she couldn't even fix it on her own.

It was so NOT the way she wanted to be! It felt weak. And it had happened so quickly!

Everything was under control! She had a stupid little weasel bothering her and she'd taken care of it all by herself. Yes, she would have felt better if she'd told Hotch or one of the other guys what was going on, but it wasn't necessary.

She could look after herself. And she wasn't going to tell Hotch about any of it unless Lipsky violated the order and it became a larger criminal complaint.

Really, there was no point in bothering him, it had been HANDLED! When she got home tonight all she was planning on doing was taking a hot bath and then curling up on the couch with a huge glass of wine, her book and her cat.

And the wine was for the shit case, NOT for Lipsky.

Instead, now she had a frigging crime scene unit on their way over to tear her home apart!

Still rubbing her back, Hotch tipped his head back slightly to look down at her as he said firmly, "_we'll_ fix this. I'll help you. I'm most worried about the fact that there was no sign that he broke in," his brow wrinkled worriedly as he sat up, keeping his hand on her back, "could he have a key?"

Wiping her hand across her face, Emily looked up at him in confusion, "I don't see how he could. It was a blind date. We went out for dinner and my creep o'meter was going crazy so that was it. I met him at the restaurant and he's never been to my home," then she considered what she'd just finished telling him and she rolled her eyes, "I mean I never _invited_ him here so even if he was using an extra key, I don't see how he got in the first time without me knowing. It's a deadbolt."

It was a steel door deadbolt and she was on the 8th floor. There was NO way to break it and not leave some obvious evidence behind.

Hotch began to chew his lip as his brain whirred. He was trying to think of another way he could have gained entry initially.

"At dinner," he asked, "did you leave the table? Go to the bathroom? Anything?"

If there were no marks on the door the bastard got her key somehow.

Emily shook her head as she sat up a little more, "no," she swallowed, "no, I don't leave my bag with people I don't know. I take it with me to the bathroom."

Suddenly something came to her and her eyes widened, "wait, but I did leave the table for a few seconds. I saw a friend of mine in the bar and I stood up to say hello. The bar was like ten feet from our table." Then she shook her head in confusion, "but Hotch, even still, how could he get my keys? To do it in that short a window, forty-five seconds, maybe a minute, he'd have needed to have a mold with him, and I'm telling you, this was a BLIND date. I didn't know him before that night."

Hotch stared at her for a moment before he leaned back slowly.

His blood was running cold.

It was right in front of her face and she hadn't seen it before because he hadn't wanted her to see it before.

She was not going to take this well.

Emily was staring down at her lap, so Hotch put his hand on her chin and turned her head so she was looking at him.

There was nothing on her face but confusion.

"You didn't know him," he started slowly, "but did HE know _you_?" His hand moved down to squeeze her shoulder as he continued gently, "you know how these things work Emily. It's unlikely that he would go this far this fast after just one dinner less than a month ago. There's something else. Maybe something you don't know about. Who introduced you?"

Emily's eyes popped as she stared at Hotch. Her horror was now growing by the second.

He was right, this was all escalating _much _too fast. Lipsky HAD to know her from before somehow!

Who the fuck WAS this guy?!

'_**FOCUS!'**_

The word was screamed from the back of her head. _FOCUS on Hotch's questions! WHO introduced you?!_

Emily's eyes fell shut, her brow furrowing as she thought back.

"About a month ago a friend of mine called me at work. He said," her face scrunched, "what did he say exactly . . ."

Emily stopped . . . oh God.

All of the color began to drain from her face as she turned to look up at Hotch.

"He said," her voice was strained, "that he had a coworker named Ed who had seen me at his Christmas party and he asked Scott to introduce us."

As Hotch's eyes widened in alarm her face crumpled.

"Oh God Hotch! That party was over TWO MONTHS ago! We just had dinner a few weeks ago! Has this guy been following me that long!?"

_Oh Jesus! Oh Christ! Oh God!_

She started praying that this was a case and not her actual life that they were discussing right now. She'd thought she was just dealing with some overly persistent jerk that needed a little extra push to take no for an answer.

But obviously she'd had no idea what she was dealing with.

Then her jaw dropped as another thought came to her. Her fingernails dug into Hotch's hand as she turned to him in horror, "if he really did make a copy of my key that night at the restaurant, then he's probably been in my apartment before tonight!"

OH GOD! She'd just passed out his picture to the doormen less than a week ago! Before that he could have come and gone without anyone noticing. Jesus, what if he'd been in there while she was SLEEPING?!

Apparently Hotch had the same thought because he asked worriedly, "do you sleep with your gun?"

Christ, this just got worse by the second!

She nodded firmly, "yeah, I keep it in my room, on the nightstand."

Letting out a slight breath, Hotch nodded, muttering under his breath, "thank God," his voice went up, "okay the techs will be here soon and we're going to have your house dusted for fingerprints and figure out what kind of blood is on the walls. If we get one hit off Lipsky then we're getting a warrant and going through the door tonight. If something else pops then, well," he shook his head, "we'll reassess. But either way," his jaw hardened, "I'll still be making a visit to Lipsky's house but it'll be less official."

Nobody fucks with his people. And the only reason he wasn't heading straight to Lipsky's was because the little tickle in the back of his brain was telling him that Foyet couldn't be ruled out.

Not yet.

It was _highly_ unlikely she'd have two UNSUBs focused on her at the same time. Hotch didn't believe in coincidences like that, but he wouldn't put it past Foyet to be manipulating the situation. He could be watching the team in general, and he could have become aware of Emily's stalker and decided to do something for his own amusement.

But Hotch wasn't going to mention that possibility to Emily. He had no evidence or reasonable supposition of Foyet's involvement, so really he'd just be scaring the shit out of her for no good reason.

Besides . . . he shook his head dismissively . . . he was probably way off base with his thoughts on Foyet inserting himself here. He was getting paranoid about him being on the loose and ignoring the evidence at hand.

The cumulative (circumstantial) evidence at hand said it was Lipsky.

Okay . . . he took a breath . . . he would focus on Lipsky alone until he had reason to deviate.

Also, as he saw the look of distress on Emily's face at the thought of the crime scene techs tramping through her home, Hotch knew that his focus needed to be on her, not them.

Whoever "he" was, he was the secondary concern.

Emily was the primary.

This was not just another case, this was personal. And he had to remember his role here was personal as well.

So he leaned down and shook his head as he said apologetically, "Emily I know it's a terrible invasion of privacy but it has to be done. At least we'll have something concrete to act on," he stood up, putting his hand out to pull her off the couch, "also, you're moving in with me until this is straightened out."

Her eyes widened, "but Hotch I . . ."

Hotch cut her off with a shake of his head, as he said firmly, "no buts."

Then he tipped his head as he realized that perhaps he was going to make her uncomfortable with that definitive an assertion that she was moving in with him.

So he attempted to clarify.

"I mean," he cleared his throat, "if you want to stay with one of the other guys okay, but you're not staying alone."

Not that he was being sexist about limiting her options to the men on the team. But he knew full well that Emily would never expose JJ's baby to this situation, so she was out. And Garcia wasn't an agent.

Therefore Emily would be watching her back rather than the other way around.

Emily swallowed as she stared at him, and then finally she nodded as she said quietly, "I'll stay with you."

Her reluctance had nothing to do with Hotch personally, or any desire on her part to stay in the apartment alone. God only knew if she'd ever be able to sleep comfortably in her own home again. Let alone if she was there by herself with the blood still on the walls.

No, her reluctance was because this was so God awful humiliating.

Her boss had to protect her.

Her jaw twitched slightly . . . okay, Hotch wasn't exactly just her boss. Their relationship was certainly more meaningful than that. Boss was just one of his titles. That's why she'd called him tonight before she'd even called the police. But still, the bottom-line was that she'd definitely gotten herself painted into a corner where she was no longer capable of watching her own back.

THAT was the humiliating part.

Not just humiliating, it was mortifying! She was an FBI AGENT! One that tracked the EXACT type of UNSUB that they were dealing with here. And she'd fucked it up. She'd totally misread the situation and now . . . her eyes started to sting again and she angrily shook off the tears.

No more of that. Not only was she upset and afraid and stressed and all that other crap, but she was also exhausted. It was definitely not helping on the crying front.

Which was part of the reason that she preferred to stay with Hotch rather than to pull anyone else into this nightmare. Not that she didn't think Hotch would be apprising them all of what had happened, but the entire team didn't need to have a front row seat to her emotional breakdown.

It could affect how they viewed her.

Not that she was relishing Hotch witnessing that either. But . . . her expression softened as she looked up and saw him staring worriedly at her . . . she knew that part of what happened tonight was safe with him.

Hotch did not speak out of school, and as thanks for that, Emily reached over and squeezed his hand. And then his eyes crinkled slightly as he squeezed back.

She almost started crying again.

But she swallowed over the lump on her throat . . . there was no more time for that right now. It was time to get her shit together.

So she looked up at him imploringly, "you promise me that you'll help me get back . . ." her voice stuttered, "my cat?"

Daisy . . . her brain automatically corrected. But she'd been very specific in not saying her name. Emily loved her. And she couldn't stop the emotional connection her heart made every time she thought about her being tortured or . . . she bit her lip . . . killed.

And she knew the odds weren't good that she was okay. The police wouldn't be focused on Daisy's safe retrieval, not like Hotch would be. The stalking laws themselves had little teeth in them.

Pet theft alone was barely a misdemeanor.

So as much as she wanted to go through Lipsky's door right now and put her boot through his spine, they needed something solid to justify it to the local police. This certainly wasn't an FBI matter, so it's not like they could call in HRT. It was local jurisdiction. And though she knew from the look on Hotch's face that he was close to moving off reservation, for the moment . . . with the police here . . . they were playing by the book.

Hotch looked at her for a moment before he squeezed her hand again as he nodded.

"I promise," he said softly as he held her gaze, "I promise we'll get her back."

It probably wasn't a promise he should be making. If this was a retaliatory act for the restraining order then God knows what he did to that animal after he got it home. Even if he didn't kill it, such a small creature couldn't survive a serious injury.

Certainly not without immediate medical treatment.

But Emily knew those odds as well as he did. What she needed right now weren't statistical outcomes. What she needed was hope.

Hope and a friend to tell her that it would be all right.

Even if wouldn't be.

He started to lead her out when something she said a few minutes earlier came roaring back to him and he froze.

"Wait," his brow wrinkled, "you said your friend comes to feed Daisy if you're gone more than three days?"

Emily looked over at him curiously, "yeah, if I'm not back then Kelly comes and checks her food and water. Why?"

What does that have to do with anything? They'd only been gone . . . she started doing the math and her eyes popped . . . OH NO!

TODAY WAS DAY FOUR!

They'd left Sunday afternoon and now it was Thursday night. She'd COMPLETELY lost track of time! And Kelly didn't bother her when she was on a case. Emily just shot her a text when she left town and then Kelly checked in with the desk on the third day to find out if they were on their way home. If they weren't, then . . . Emily started frantically patting her pockets . . . she'd swing by Emily's condo on the way home from work and check on Daisy.

That meant tonight! She would have been here TONIGHT! Tonight when something . . . or someone . . . was bled out so that this psycho could write a message in blood on the walls!

When Emily's eyes snapped and she started yanking her phone from her pocket, Hotch saw that she'd picked up on his thought process. While she was frantically scrolling through her phone directory, Hotch grabbed her arm and started running them back down the hall to her apartment.

"WHAT'S HER ADDRESS?!"

Emily was only half listening to Hotch's yell as the phone went to voicemail.

_FUCK!_

"EMILY! ADDRESS?!" Hotch screamed again and she snapped her eyes over, "1327 LEE HIGHWAY, APT B!"

They burst back through her apartment door, Hotch slamming it shut as he yelled over to the police officers pounding down the stairs in response to their screaming.

"I need you to send a car to 1327 Lee Highway, Apt B! Resident is FBI Special Agent Kelly Hsu!" Hotch hollered over as he jerked his head to the writing on the wall, "she was checking on the cat!"

The first officer . . . Simon . . . shot a look over his shoulder at the blood as he started calling frantically into his radio.

"Dispatch, I need a sector car for a priority one personal welfare check!"

Once Hotch was sure that the car was being sent he whipped back around to see Emily dialing again.

"How many times have you tried?" He asked anxiously.

"Four!" she answered in a near panic, "two cell, two house." She hit the cell number again as she put the phone back to her ear, "God Hotch, what if he . . .?"

But he cut her off firmly, "we don't know anything yet. Don't let your mind go down the what if road. Right now we just need to talk to her. Is she married? Is there somebody else that you could call?"

She shook her head, "no, nobody. No boyfriend right now and she lives alone."

The voicemail picked up and she started leaving another frantic message.

"Kel, it's Em, I need you to call me on my cell right away. As soon as you get this. There's been a . . ."

Hotch tuned out the rest of the words . . . he'd just heard them a moment before . . . as he started focusing in on how quickly things were spinning out of control.

Regardless of what he'd just said to Emily about what ifs, and regardless of the inherent truth of that statement, Hotch still had a very bad feeling. And he had a bad feeling because as soon as the back of his brain had processed that this was the fourth day, he'd suddenly had the film strip playing in his head.

He'd been doing this for too long and he knew exactly how things went when they went completely off the rails.

The work day ended, Agent Hsu knew that Emily wasn't home yet so she'd decided to stop in to check on the cat before she went back to her own place. It should have been five minutes, in and out.

EXCEPT, the UNSUB had been watching Emily for at least two months and he knew the routine.

They'd had at least six cases out of town since the holidays. So he _knew_ that after a certain number of days that Emily's friend would be going to the apartment to check the cat. So when Emily didn't return so that he could directly address his grievances about the restraining order . . . the stressor . . . the UNSUB followed her friend up to the apartment and took her by surprise at the door.

Agent Hsu might have been an armed but she wasn't on duty and her day to day routine wasn't inherently dangerous. She didn't investigate serial murderers, she went after corporate embezzlers. Her unit was made up of accountants that carried guns they never used.

A raid for her would be to seize computers and tax returns.

So in all likelihood she wasn't generally going to be any more suspicious of strangers than the average citizen. And she wasn't in a dimly lit parking garage. She was in her friend's well lit, safe, neighborhood apartment building coming over to put some Friskies into a bowl.

She sure as hell wouldn't have been expecting an ambush. His eyes snapped over to the blood on the wall . . . and she really wouldn't have had much of a chance at all.

God . . . his stomach clenched . . . that poor woman. And Emily . . . he looked back down at her . . . Emily was not going to take this one in stride.

No reason to upset her just yet, he decided. He'd just let her keep calling her friend. There was still a possibility . . . admittedly a small one . . . that this wasn't her blood.

That maybe something else had happened here.

'_You're kidding yourself, trying to make this easier for Emily,'_ a little voice whispered in the back of his head.

Well, maybe he was, but either way he was keeping his very specific theory from her for another few minutes.

So as Emily continued to frantically call Agent Hsu's number, Hotch stepped away from her to check the rest of the living room again.

The first time they walked through they were looking for felines and UNSUBS, now he was looking for something else.

Evidence.

His eyes bounced around the room, looking for something that wouldn't be obvious. Something they wouldn't see until they started looking.

THE COUCH!

The fabric was dark blue. He hurried over and lifted the end cushion with the tips of his fingers.

SHIT!

Blood. And it was still wet.

He swallowed as he carefully moved the other cushion to the side.

He winced . . . another sticky mess underneath.

Feeling his adrenaline racing again, Hotch's eyes shot across the room to Emily leaving another panicked message on Agent Hsu's answering machine. She needed to know about this but he put it off for a second.

First he went back over to Officer Simon . . . Krasinski had just run out to guide the crime scene techs upstairs. Hotch could hear Jones talking to his sergeant but still he needed to interrupt.

But he did it quietly with a gesture to the sofa as he whispered harshly into the other man's ear.

"There's a substantial amount of blood soaked into the cushions. We're beyond a welfare check. Put an APB out on Agent Hsu. We need to find her NOW!"

His voice went up at the end and he snapped his eyes over to Emily.

Still distracted on the phone.

Hotch continued to stare at her as he added to the officer. "Also, possible suspect, Edward Lipsky of Ballston. Agent Prentiss filed a restraining order against him last week. Get his particulars out. At best he's a person of interest, at worst he's grievously wounded an armed federal agent. So to be safe tell them to consider him armed and dangerous."

The officer's eyes snapped over to the couch before he started talking into his radio again, putting out an APB on both individuals and asking for an immediate status update from the sector car checking the apartment on Lee Highway.

With that much blood under the cushions . . . flipped over to buy him more time before discovery . . . Hotch was surprised that the UNSUB got her out of there at all. If she was still alive he must have wrapped her in something and cleaned up before he left.

Good Christ . . . Hotch's brain started whirling down bad roads again . . . what if they'd landed earlier? What if Emily had come home earlier?

What would have happened if she'd walked in on this horror show?

Feeling a stab in his gut at the implications, Hotch stood there by the stairs, watching Emily over by the kitchen counter. He was listening to the officer's radio, waiting for the police on scene to make contact with Agent Hsu. There was no response at the door.

They were waiting for permission to break it down.

Hotch's mind began to race with next steps.

Should he call the rest of the team? Or maybe at least Dave?

He bit his lip . . . he just wasn't sure. He didn't know _what_ they were dealing with yet. Yes, this was a criminal matter, _clearly_ . . . he thought bitterly . . . it was a criminal matter, but was it also a BAU matter?

A single offender stalking a single victim, he couldn't generally in good conscience utilize their collective expertise on a case such as that. Not when there were so many multiple murders, multiple rapes and missing children all across the country. Putting his personal feelings for Emily aside . . . which was admittedly very difficult . . . Hotch knew that to take the entire team off rotation for her situation would be irresponsible.

Also, Strauss had slapped their wrists pretty hard after the debacle with the Vatican a little over a month ago. So if he again diverted the full resources of the team for an Emily situation . . . that was going to be impossible to justify.

Strauss could suspend him, possibly even reassign him for lack of objectivity or gross misuse of resources. And those would be hard charges to fight.

Because he could at least admit to himself . . . his eyes followed her fingers as they nervously ran through her hair . . . that he was not at all objective when it came to Emily Prentiss.

That's why he'd let her push so hard on Matthew's murder. He'd known at the time that he should have benched her, possibly even taken her gun, but it just . . . he couldn't do it.

She'd wanted something and he just couldn't say no. So he blamed himself entirely for things getting as fucked up as they did. It was his fault. He should have kept her close, kept a watch on her.

Kept her with him.

So THIS time . . . his jaw clenched . . . this time, she wasn't going off with Rossi or Morgan. No, this time she was staying with him 24/7. This would not become another cluster, and if the two of them had to work off the books so be it. But this time the team as a whole . . . at least officially . . . would be busy elsewhere.

The last thing they needed was to catch Strauss' eye again.

Granted the potential assault or murder of Agent Hsu would at least provide federal jurisdiction if anyone wanted to take it from the locals. But still, it wouldn't be justification to take on the case themselves.

As far as BAU criteria went, it would still be a single offender with a single victim.

Emily.

Agent Hsu was . . . he winced as he heard the go order to take down the door . . . collateral damage.

His thoughts came to a screeching halt by a burst of static through the radio. And then.

". . . ODE 51! REPEAT WE HAVE A 51! IT'S A MESS! ADULT FEMALE, SEND THE WAGON AND THE TECHS! AND CHRIST WE NEED A STREET SUPERVISOR **NOW**!"

Emily's head had whipped around when she heard the screaming. She ran across the room snapping her cell phone shut.

"What's going on!?" She asked frantically as her eyes scanned their faces, "are they at Kelly's apartment?! Is that where they need the ME?!"

Officer Simon's gaze slid away from hers and she had her answer.

"NO!" Her eyes filled with tears as she screamed, "NO, ALL SHE WAS DOING WAS FEEDING THE CAT! SHE CAN'T BE DEAD! THAT'S NOT POSSIBLE!"

But she could see from the looks on the other men's faces that it was.

_OH SHIT! OH GOD!_

Emily doubled over, sucking wind, feeling the grief rising up.

NO! No! She wasn't going to lose it! NOT here!

She took a breath . . . and then she took another . . . and another.

It was one thing to allow Hotch to see her weak . . . but it was something else . . . she slowly inhaled and exhaled as she stared at the shiny black tips of the officer's boots . . . to allow this man to see her that way.

The time for her personal grief was later. Now she needed to keep it together. She needed to focus to figure out what the hell was happening.

Feeling warm fingers encircling wrist, Emily looked up at Hotch. They stared at each other for a moment. Usually he was so stoic, but he was doing a lousy job of keeping on his game face tonight. And seeing his emotions so close to the surface was doing nothing for her own sense of control.

His fingers slid down to grasp hers and she cleared her throat.

"Can . . .?"

The rest of the question caught in her throat. But fortunately Hotch knew what she was asking and he nodded sadly, "yeah," he squeezed her index and middle fingers as he answered gently, "yeah, we can go."

Though this wasn't something that he thought she should see . . . it wasn't something that he _wanted_ her to see . . . he knew that in her position that he wouldn't take no for an answer.

Yes, keeping her safe was his paramount concern. But he was also trying not to coddle her. If it was something that he would want to do himself . . . and he could ensure her safety while they did it . . . then he wasn't going to shield her from anything simply out of some antiquated chauvinism.

It would be disrespectful to her and their whole relationship.

Just before they started out he handed his card to Officer Simon.

"We're going to the other scene. If anyone needs us, or you get an update on Lipsky's location, my cell's on there."

Emily turned back, sliding her own card out as well and handing it over.

It was her apartment, her UNSUB . . . her dead friend. This was her problem, not Hotch's.

Okay . . . she felt the tug on her hand as they started out the door . . . he'd probably see it as _their _problem. But she wasn't going to be dependent on him.

Her eyes started to water as they walked down to the elevator . . . she was going to pull her own weight here.

Just like always.

As they stepped into the elevator Hotch glanced down to see Emily frantically blinking. He wished there was something he could do to comfort her, but he knew how much effort it was taking her to keep it together. And he didn't want to do something that would break her concentration.

So for her sake, for a moment he tried to pretend like this wasn't what it was.

Her life.

He took the keys out of his pocket and held them up in front of her.

"You want to drive?"

Emily swallowed as she bit down on her lip. Then she turned to give him a sad smile.

She could probably count on one hand the number of times Hotch had let her drive, let alone his personal vehicle.

"Yeah," she took the keys from his hand, "thanks."

/

As they drove to Kelly's apartment Emily listened as Hotch called and told SSA Willis that Kelly was dead.

Willis was Kelly's chief. And Emily ached with guilt as she heard Hotch attempting to explain what had happened. Why she was dead. Intellectually Emily knew that this wasn't her fault, but she still felt responsible.

Because Kelly _was_ dead because of her. She was dead because she was her friend.

Those were facts.

After a minute of listening to Willis ask frantic, grief stricken questions for which he had no answers, Hotch gently cut in and told her again that he was very sorry for the loss of her agent, and he'd call her when he knew more.

Then he hung up.

They rode the rest of the way in silence.

/

When they pulled up across from Kelly's apartment building the ME's office was just arriving. Emily put Hotch's car into park and then they watched the scene through the window. The orderlies opened the back of the black van and took out the gurney with the black bag on it.

Emily had seen the same scene repeated dozens of times, in dozens of places around the country.

As awful as all of those days had been, she'd never truly appreciated what a terribly sad moment it was. A human life, reduced to transport in a plastic bag.

Like a piece of trash.

A wave of grief ripped through Emily's chest and she slapped her hand over her mouth to keep the sob from escaping.

_God, please don't let me lose it now!_

"Emily," Hotch whispered sadly as he leaned over and squeezed her shoulder, "we _don't_ have to do this. We can go to the station and you can give your statement. We don't need to be here."

Seeing her like this was killing him. It was bad enough when Matthew died, he'd seen how much she was hurting and he'd been unable to do anything to comfort her. That was barely seven weeks ago and now here she was again mourning the death of somebody she loved.

It wasn't right.

His hand rubbed along her arm . . . it wasn't right at all.

Emily squeezed her lids tightly shut as she breathed in and out, over and over, feeling Hotch's hand on her arm.

It was close to a minute before she opened her watery eyes and turned to him.

"I'm okay," she said firmly, "I'm okay. I want to do this."

She needed to do this. She owed it to Kelly.

He stared at her for a moment and then he nodded slowly, "okay, you wait for me before you get out. And I want you right next to me the whole time, understood? And watch the bystanders, keep your eyes peeled for Lipsky."

Hotch had pulled up Lipsky's driver's license photo on his blackberry. Clean cut, six foot, 2 inch Caucasian male, hazel eyes, blonde hair.

Objectively Hotch knew that he'd be considered attractive but . . . there was something in his eyes. Even if he hadn't been pegged as their possible UNSUB, Hotch still would have had a negative reaction to the photo. He could definitely see why Emily's . . . as she'd called it . . . 'creep o'meter' would have been going off.

As he stepped out of the car, Hotch's own eyes were going everywhere at once as he hurried around to the driver's side. It was dark and there was a crowd forming across the street.

All brought out by the flashing red and blue lights.

_The UNSUB could be in there_ . . . a little voice popped up worriedly . . . _this could have been an effort to lure Emily out. _

Hotch's hand had been hovering over his sidearm, and as he felt a brief flash of fear for her safety, his hand clamped down on the butt of his revolver.

He opened Emily's door and she stepped up next to him. His eyes were still circling the shadows in the buildings around them as he grabbed her hand and hurried them across the street.

Ordinarily he wouldn't be caught dead holding his agent's hand at a crime scene. But they weren't there in their professional capacity.

For all intents they were civilians.

Armed . . . he flashed his ID at the officers watching the tape . . . badged civilians, but his role at the moment wasn't to investigate this woman's murder. It was to provide emotional support and physical protection to Emily.

Again he repeated to himself . . . Emily was the number priority, the case was number two.

As they stepped into the lobby Hotch saw one of the crime scene techicians coming down the stairs carrying a cage. Then suddenly Emily shrieked from his side.

"DAISY!"

He let go of her hand, following after her as she ran over to the startled tech and put her hands on the metal cage, "oh Daisy!" She began to cry as she looked up at the man holding her, "where's she hurt?"

Her fur was bloody and she looked terrified but Emily couldn't see where she'd been cut.

"Uh," the guy looked back and forth between Emily and Hotch, "I don't . . . uh . . ."

Hotch saw that he was utterly confused . . . understandable . . . so he pulled out his badge again.

"FBI, Agents Hotchner and Prentiss," he identified them before he tipped his head down to the cage, "this is Agent Prentiss' cat," then his gaze shifted up the stairs as he added softly, "and that was Agent Prentiss' friend. Now," he put his hand out, "could we _please_ take custody of the animal?"

'_For the love of GOD give me the cat!' _He screamed in his head.

If nothing else came out of this night, at least he could get Emily's beloved pet back to her. After they'd found Hsu's body he'd figured the cat was . . . as Emily said . . . most likely only going to be found again after it was nailed to her front door.

The fact that Lipsky hadn't killed it . . . that he'd left it for her to find . . . was a sign that this wasn't over yet. He was going to try to use it as a bargaining chip, evidence of how much he cared.

Hotch didn't give a shit about any of that right now though. All he knew was that Emily was crying and she wanted her damn cat back. And if Hotch had to drag the God damn Chief of the Alexandria police out of bed to get it for her, then that's what he was going to do!

The man looked over his badge and then at the tears running down Emily's face as she murmured to Daisy through the cage.

The cat was mewling softly back.

Finally he tipped his head as he said slowly, "well, if you sign the chain of custody you can take her. But the cat needs to be processed."

As they both looked at him in confusion he explained haltingly, "uh, it's not hurt . . . that's not her blood."

Hotch winced at the implications. Then he saw the look of horror that had spread across Emily's face right before it crumpled and she began to sob. These were the sobs she'd pushed back down at the condo and in the car.

They'd finally beaten her.

As his heart twisted in pain for her, Hotch decided to do something that he'd never done before.

He reached over and slipped his arm around her waist. As he pulled her against his side he put his hand out for the cage.

"Thank you," he swallowed, "we'll bring her down to the station in a little while. I assume that we'll be able to take her home once you're done with the evidence collection?"

Home.

The word caught in his brain. When he said it the way he just had it sounded like they were a couple. Then he realized that he had his arm around Emily's waist and she was sobbing on his shoulder.

Yeah . . . his eyes tracked over the faces in the lobby watching them and he pulled Emily more closely into his side . . . all of these people definitely had to assume that they were a couple.

For a second that bothered him. Not that somebody would think he'd date Emily of course, no, it was the implied impropriety inherent in what they were doing if they were involved and working a case.

And then he remembered that they weren't on the job. This was a personal matter. So he decided to say screw it to appearances as he rubbed Emily's side consolingly.

The guy bit his lip in sympathy as he saw Emily weeping. Then his eyes snapped up to Hotch's as he nodded, "uh, yeah, and I'm on until midnight," he checked his watch, "it's almost ten now. If you guys just ask for me, John Kass, I'll do it right away and you can take her home."

Hotch nodded his gratitude as he grasped the handle of the cage, "thank you very much Mr. Kass, we'll be there within the hour."

The tech nodded, his eyes shifting down to Emily once more before he turned and went back up to the apartment.

There was more work to be done.

Hotch watched him go until he disappeared up the stairs. Then he looked around the lobby . . . it was clearly authorized personnel only. Still though . . . he shot them a scowl as he guided Emily over to one of the end chairs spaced throughout the marble foyer . . . he didn't want them to have a front row to her grief.

He knew from how she had her face was pressed into his coat that she was embarrassed.

So he sat her down and put the cage on the floor at her feet. The cat was still shaking and Hotch wondered what the hell had gone on upstairs that it was still so traumatized even after being reunited with Emily.

But the cat's issues would have to wait a moment.

He crouched in front of Emily and picked up her hands. Her head slowly came up.

The tears were beginning to taper off.

"Emily," he whispered as he squeezed her fingers, "I'm so sorry."

His condolences were as much for the death of her friend as they were for having it beat over her head in such an awful fashion. He knew how hard she'd been trying to keep it together. How much comfort she took in her ability to compartmentalize her feelings. Then she could deal with these terrible things on her own time.

So to lose it completely in a room full of fellow law enforcement . . . that was an additional hit for her tonight.

An embarrassment that she did not need right now.

Emily's eyes locked with Hotch's, and then she took a shuddering breath.

She wanted to apologize for crying in front of everyone, for letting things get so out of hand.

For not coming to him earlier when all of this could have been prevented.

It was all on the tip of her tongue, but when she opened her mouth all she got out was a watery, "I . . ." and Hotch cut her off with a shake of his head.

"Don't," he whispered, "it's okay." His eyes dropped down for a moment before he looked back at her. Then he ran his thumb along the inside of her left wrist as he asked softly, "do you still want to go upstairs?"

Feeling a tingle where Hotch's thumb was running along her arm, Emily sniffed, "no . . . but," she pulled her other hand back to wipe across her face, "I have to. I owe her that much."

The LAST thing she wanted to do right now was go up and see what this psycho had done to her friend.

To see the bloody little paw prints that she now knew would be all over the apartment.

But there might be a clue there meant just for her. Something that the local detectives wouldn't understand.

_That's _why she needed to go.

"Okay," Hotch took a breath as he stood up, pulling her slowly to her feet. There was barely an inch of space between them, but he didn't move back. He was deliberately blocking her from the rest of the room so she could clean her face. He'd already decided that it didn't matter if these people thought they were involved so he wasn't much worried about inferences on their lack of personal space.

So he breathed in the mingled scent of her perfume . . . Shalimar . . . her shampoo . . . Pantene . . . and her Emily'ness as he waited for her to pull herself back together.

As he stood there he had an overwhelming urge to put his hand on her hip . . . but he firmly resisted that desire. He told himself it was a conditioned response to having a woman so far into his personal space.

That's what he told himself . . . but even he didn't believe that one for a second.

Once Emily had wiped her face and blown her nose, she looked back up at Hotch.

He was so close she had to strain her head slightly.

"How do I look?"

Her voice was a little hoarse and Hotch's expression softened as he gave her a faint smile, "you look just fine."

Her eyes were wide and still glistening. And her cheeks were flushed from where she'd been scrubbing them with the tissue. She didn't just look fine.

She looked beautiful.

Emily gave him a very watery smile back, "you're a bad liar," she wiped her hand across her nose again, "but it's not like we're going to the ball."

No, they were going up to see the lifeless body of one of her oldest friends. Her appearance wasn't really important. She paused as she saw Hotch still staring at her.

"What?" she asked huskily.

He slowly shook his head, "nothing," he leaned down to pick up the cat's cage, "nothing at all."

For a moment he'd considered telling her that the lie wasn't that she looked bad, it was that she looked beautiful. He thought it might cheer her up.

Something superficial to offset the embarrassment of what had just happened.

And then he realized how inappropriate his words would have been. It was bad enough that he was having these thoughts at a crime scene, he couldn't express them aloud.

It would be distasteful.

Emily leaned down to whisper something to Daisy that Hotch couldn't hear. Then she took a deep breath and held her hand out to him.

He didn't look at her face. He just stared at her fingers for a moment before he curled his larger digits around her smaller ones.

"Ready?" he whispered.

"Yes," she murmured back.

So he tightened his grasp . . . and they started up the stairs.

* * *

_A/N 2: No, I didn't kill Daisy, but Kelly had to take one for the team. _

_All kinds of things are kind of swirling around my brain in this story. Trying to address their onscreen relationship mid-late season 4, and reconciling their seeming closeness with their (at that stage) uncharacteristic distance during their two respective 'very special episodes.' Hotch especially, I've already written a story (The Middle Ground, if you're interested) with my take on why he was behaving the way he was in Demonology. But in that one they're involved, in this one, they aren't. But I could also see him F'ing things up because her hurting so openly with Matthew's death makes him realize that he's got some deeper feelings for her and he pulls back even further thinking Morgan and Rossi would be better buffers so he didn't do something stupid. But his way of showing he cared was not reigning her in until he'd let things go much too far. So I took that, and the lesson he would have learned from that, plus all of the guilt he was feeling after Omnivore, and swirled it into one big giant neurotic mess Hotch. Now he's determined not to make the same mistakes he did in Demonology, letting her go off and deal with things on her own, and he's also incredibly paranoid about Foyet showing up again and how that's coloring his actions. But is it Foyet or is it Lipsky who's screwing with Emily now? And no, Lipsky is not Foyet in disguise :) _

_Also, this really won't be a 'whole team effort' for the reasons Hotch said. I just don't see them getting away with another dedicated full resources effort to handle a team member's personal issue when it was a very singular issue. It's not like when Hotch was nearly killed by Foyet, it was a personal attack and Foyet was already a serial killer. If they had a major diplomatic flap and Strauss already doesn't care for Emily or Hotch, I see her taking serious action if he mobilized everyone for Emily's personal issue, again. Not to say they won't be helping out from behind the scenes but there will be no huddling in the bullpen._

_Hopefully you're still enjoying this one. This chapter was VERY long but we're still on day one, hour one and as I plan for a certain period of time to be covered in this story, I didn't want to drag this one night into like 17 little chapters. _


	3. The Other Side of the Glass

**Author's Note:** Though I'd said no more than one a week here, due to real life interference with fake life this is about all I have to go up for the next couple days.

I know I'm also a bit behind on my review correspondence too, so a big thank you to everyone who's written to me recently. If you've written to me before then you know I do try to get back to everyone eventually :)

Again we're picking up immediately from the last scene.

* * *

**The Other Side of the Glass**

As they slowly climbed the staircase, Hotch noted absentmindedly how nice the architecture of the building was. He was sure that the neighbors would be telling their friends and family that things like this didn't happen here.

But Hotch could tell them that things like this happened everywhere. Neither your income bracket nor your zip code provided any protection from men like Edward Lipsky.

Hell . . . he flashed on the standard issue sidearm Agent Hsu would have been carrying . . . even a handgun didn't necessarily do anything for you.

Because if your assailant was motivated enough . . . you were dead.

With that thought in mind, Hotch felt a little jolt in his heart. And as they turned onto the first landing, he let go of Emily's hand to slide his arm around her waist again. He hoped that she wouldn't mind him taking the liberty, but he felt more in control knowing that she was right with him.

Of course that control was little more than an illusion, but still, his nerves were pretty shot and keeping her close made him feel better.

Hopefully it did her as well.

Emily bit her lip as she felt Hotch pull her against his side. She was surprised at how physically demonstrative he was being.

Though it wasn't at all unwelcome . . . she reached up to squeeze his fingers . . . it was slightly uncharacteristic.

Not that Hotch was cold or uncaring, quite the opposite actually. Though his intensity could at first be a little off putting, once you got to know him you could see that he was in fact a very warm, kind man. But he did generally keep a certain physical distance from other people.

Especially women.

She knew that a large part of it was his strict professionalism, but he was like that on duty as well as off. Morgan and Rossi would put their arm around her waist if they were in a bar and they'd had a few.

Hotch didn't do that.

Ever.

On the rare occasion that he got a little tipsy he might be more inclined to get her attention by touching her arm, but he was not inclined to do what he was doing tonight.

A wave of emotion came rising up and her eyes started to sting again . . . it was really nice though. She'd known that Hotch cared about her, that they were friends, but knowing that in order to support her, that he was willing to move past his own personal boundaries, that meant a lot to her.

That he would do that for her.

It certainly made her feel less awkward about her own slips in control tonight. Because right now . . . for the first time that she could recall, he wasn't being Super Hotch. The invincible, unrattleable, Special Agent-in-Charge. He was just being . . . well . . . Aaron probably.

This . . . she felt the warmth of his body pressed next to hers . . . was probably the man that Haley knew.

Emily wouldn't mind getting to know this man better.

They stepped off the stairs and onto the familiar forest green carpeting that ran the length of the second floor. There were two apartments on each level, one to the left of the staircase, and one to the right.

Kelly's was to the right.

Now that they were closer Emily could hear the familiar background noise of an active crime scene. Police radios, always police radios.

Her nerves started to stretch thin again . . . this was it.

They turned the corner and Emily stopped short as she sucked in her breath.

Oh shit.

Hotch's fingers dug slightly into her side. Though she'd thought she'd mentally prepared herself, apparently there wasn't really any full mental preparation for this moment. Because five feet ahead of them was crime scene tape, and just outside the open door beyond it, Emily could see the orderlies were unfolding the black bag.

They were getting ready to move Kelly.

Though she'd known downstairs that they were here, THIS she had not prepared herself for. When she had asked Hotch if they could come here, she'd just wanted to see the scene. To see where Kelly had died to look for evidence that might help them catch Lipsky.

And though she'd known that there was a possibility that Kelly would still be there, most likely she would have been covered. Emily could have avoided seeing her.

But now she was walking into the moment . . . the moment where Kelly Amanda Hsu would cease to be a human being and would be reduced to just a body.

The woman who . . . when they were twenty-five . . . had laughed until she cried when Emily showed up for Friday night clubbing in that God awful perm. The woman who had held her hand at her grandfather's funeral when they were thirty-two. The woman who loved Hawaiian pizza, George Clooney, Yuengling beer and cheesy action movies from the eighties.

That woman . . . Emily's eyes started to burn as the grief washed over her again . . . that woman was gone.

Replaced now by this cold, lifeless body less than ten feet away.

Hearing Emily bite back a moan, Hotch winced in sympathy as he quickly turned to move her back against the wall. Again he put the cage by their feet, and again he got right into her space. This time he placed his hand flat on the plaster next to her head, blocking her view down to the apartment.

Her eyes were glistening with tears as they danced around in a near panic.

"Hotch . . . please . . . I . . ."

Emily tried to get the words out. But, as before, he already seemed to know what she wanted to say.

His hand came up to brush away the tear that she felt spill over and run down her cheek.

"Don't look," he whispered, "you don't want to remember her that way."

For a moment he berated himself thinking that they should have waited downstairs until this part was done. But then he remembered that there was a larger crowd down there. This would have been just as hard for her in the lobby and there they would have had an audience.

Up here at least nobody was paying them much attention.

Hearing the voices announcing that they were about to take the body out, Hotch slid the cage back flat against the wall with his foot as he moved another inch closer to Emily's body. Again, that mixture of scents threatened to overwhelm his careful control.

But this time it was okay. This time he needed to distract her. So he let his hand fall where it had wanted to earlier.

To her hip.

At his touch, their gazes locked. The tears were still hovering and her breath was starting to come in small pants.

He felt a pain in his chest . . . she was terrified.

"Just look at me Emily," he ordered softly, "you don't look anywhere but my face until I tell you to, okay?"

Her head jerked down once as she bit her lip.

His heart continued to ache as he cursed his inability to do anything useful for her. Intellectually he knew that this moment was going to be hell no matter what he did.

But that didn't make him feel any better.

When he heard movement begin down the hall, Hotch started talking to get her mind off the noise.

"Tell me how you met Agen . . . Kelly. Tell me about when you met Kelly. It was a long time ago, right?"

They were old friends, that much he knew. She and Emily went to lunch a couple times a month so Hotch would sometimes see her up in the bullpen. He knew her well enough to say hello to her in the hall.

He had liked her . . . she was nice, funny.

It was obvious why she and Emily would be friends.

Emily swallowed, grateful for the distraction, "um yeah," she whispered, "we met in the Academy. We were roommates. Her dad was Navy so her family had traveled around when she was a kid too. We hit it off right away. We've been friends ever since. We were both so happy when we got stationed at the Academy at the same . . ."

Her words were cut off as they heard the announcement to clear a hole. Emily's fingers dug into Hotch's jacket as she bit down hard on her lip.

_Oh God, please, just get it done!_

Hotch took another step closer. His body was almost pressed against hers and he knew that they looked like lovers in a clinch. But that didn't matter.

Not here.

When the gurney began its journey down the hall Hotch told Emily to close her eyes. A few seconds later it began to roll past them and he heard the ME's assistant tell the orderly that they needed another bag.

They had leakage.

Another tear rolled out from under Emily's closed lid as she tipped her head forward. It landed on Hotch's chest.

As the worst moments of her life went this was taking its place in the top five. She'd almost rather be back in the compound and having Cyrus kick the shit out of her.

Actually she would prefer that. Because in that moment when Emily was being tortured, Kelly was still alive. Another tear slid down her face . . . she'd gladly get her ribs kicked in every day of the week if it meant her friend would live.

Hotch bit back a torrent of profanity as he listened to the men talking behind them. He wanted to tell them to just get the fuck out of there. Deal with it downstairs.

But he kept his tongue because he knew that it wasn't their fault. They were just doing their jobs, they didn't know who Emily was, that she didn't need to hear this. Ordinarily family and friends aren't allowed within a mile of an active crime scene. And that's because of these things.

These horribly insensitive cruelties that nobody should have to associate with a loved one.

But Emily was here now. So he just rubbed her side until they were done fixing the bags.

Two agonizingly long minutes.

But finally they moved away. And Hotch turned his head, watching as they turned the corner.

_Thank Christ!_

He leaned down to whisper in her ear, "they're gone."

Emily slowly lifted her head, wiping her hand across her face as she looked up at Hotch sadly.

"Being on this side of the glass really sucks."

The glass was that of the autopsy room . . . she was now on the viewing side.

His expression softened further, "I know Emily," he bit his lip, "I know. But we'll be gone soon."

Given where they were and what was going on around them, he couldn't believe that she was still as well composed as she was. He felt a surge of respect and pride . . . her reserves of strength were astounding.

Emily nodded before she turned her head, shifting her gaze down the hall to the open apartment door.

There were still police and technicians coming in and out. And looking at them . . . so professional and detached . . . Emily suddenly realized that the detectives would most likely have a problem with her teary eyed presence. She looked up at Hotch.

"Maybe you should go down first just to make this looks more like a professional inquiry than a . . ." she cleared her throat as she sniffled again, "condolence call."

It was a little bit of both actually.

Hotch was already shaking his head before she finished talking, "I'm not leaving you alone. Not here. They'll want your input. Even if they don't let us inside they won't turn us away."

Emily's jaw twitched slightly as she considered his words, and then she grabbed his hand again. Funny she'd never once held Aaron Hotchner's hand before tonight. And now it was like a security blanket she couldn't put down. A small part of her worried that she would grow too dependent on it.

Him.

That she was growing dependent on him.

Because it's not like hand holding was an option at work. What was she going to do tomorrow when the grief started to rise up again and she started to have a panic attack about what happened to Kelly? What could have happened to Daisy. What could still happen to her.

What would she do then? How would she cope?

'_Never mind that,'_ she chastised herself, _'just deal with right now.'_

Right . . . she took a deep breath and let it out slowly . . . just deal with now. That was more than enough.

An expression of her grandmother's suddenly came to her . . . _just deal with today, tomorrow will deal with itself._

With that thought in mind Emily pushed all the what ifs out of her head. Then she stiffened her spine, preparing herself for what she would be seeing in a moment.

The place where Kelly died.

Hotch picked up Daisy . . . her shaking was getting worse, she probably had been about as happy as Emily to have Kelly's body that close to them . . . and they continued the rest of the way down the corridor. Though she was clutching his hand tightly, Hotch could tell from the way that Emily was otherwise carrying herself that she'd slipped her professional persona back on again.

It was armor.

And given that both of his hands were full . . . with Emily and Daisy respectively . . . she was the one slipping out her badge as they approached the uniformed officers at the door.

"Excuse me," she said as she held her credentials up in front of the female officer, "could we please see the detective in charge here? We have information relevant to the case."

God did they ever. And she was ridiculously proud of herself for getting through those two sentences without a quiver in her voice. Then she realized how pathetic it was that she was proud of such a minor accomplishment.

It was even more pathetic that she actually thought it was an accomplishment.

As the officer disappeared inside the apartment Emily heard Hotch whisper in her ear, "you're doing just fine Prentiss."

At his praise, tears pricked her eyes. But she blinked them back.

Prentiss.

He was calling her Prentiss again to show that he knew that she was trying to distance herself from the moment. God did he know her well.

As they stood in the hall waiting, Hotch began running his thumb along Emily's hand, trying to keep her calm. After a moment the female uniform returned with middle aged black man with a goatee and closely cropped hair. He was wearing a brown leather jacket and latex gloves spotted with blood.

He looked them over warily, "I'm Detective Durant. And you are?"

Hotch debated for a moment if he should let go of Emily or the cat, and then Emily made the choice for him as she slipped her hand out of his.

He assumed that she was trying to not appear too soft, but by her silence at the detective's question it was clear that she wanted him to take point. So with his now free hand, Hotch slipped his own badge out and held it up.

"FBI, Agent Hotchner," he tipped his head over to Emily, "Agent Prentiss."

Seeing the detective's eyes brighten in recognition of their names, Hotch figured that he'd been apprised of the earlier events. So he continued talking going on that assumption.

"As you've probably been informed by now, we believe that Agent Hsu was abducted from Agent Prentiss' home earlier tonight. Probably sometime between five and seven. I'm not sure what the crime scene unit will come up with for typing but there was . . ."

He stopped suddenly as he remembered that he hadn't told Emily yet about the blood on the couch.

Shit.

So rather than continuing to direct his remarks to the detective, Hotch turned to Emily instead, placing his hand on her shoulder as he said gently, "the couch cushions were soaked in blood."

At the splash of horror on her face Hotch hated himself for telling her here. That wasn't something that she should have learned in front of strangers. He should have told her in the car so she would have had time to process it.

_Good job Aaron_ . . . he thought bitterly . . . _why don't you make this even harder for her?_

Unfortunately there was nothing he could do about that now, the damage was done. So his hand slid down her arm to take her hand again as he turned back to the detective.

There were still some hard items to discuss and Emily had wanted to be here for them so he couldn't shield her from the rest of it.

"Therefore," he directed his remarks again to Detective Durant, "based on the amount of blood there, the logical assumption is that Agent Hsu was severely injured during her abduction and then killed here."

Durant tipped his head as he said slowly, "based on the evidence at hand that does seem to be the logical assumption."

Hotch could tell the other man was hesitant to discuss the full details of the case with them. He could understand that, they were outsiders and if nothing else Durant was probably concerned about them claiming federal jurisdiction over his murder scene. But Hotch didn't care anything about taking control of the investigation. His only concerns here were how things related back to Emily.

So there was a touch of worry in his tone as he asked, "the APB on the suspect, Lipsky, do you have any update on that?"

That was really the most important thing. Lipsky was a continuing threat to Emily. But this was an unusual situation for Hotch. He wasn't accustomed to being totally locked out of a case. He wasn't in a position to ask to take point. He wasn't even really in a position to offer much in the way of insight.

Yes, they could give general stalker statistics during this conversation but they wouldn't be coming along for the whole investigative process. And really that wasn't necessary anyway. This wasn't an UNSUB situation. They had a subject. A name, a face, an address.

Somebody just had to find the son of a bitch.

Durant stared at them for a moment, clearly sizing them up. Trying to decide how much he was willing to share. Finally he made his decision and his professional mask slipped, the exhaustion becoming evident on his face as he shook his head.

"No," looking down, he sighed heavily as he snapped off his gloves, "no, we've checked his home, but of course he was long gone. We left a car there and one back at Agent Prentiss.' We've also put an APB out in Virginia, Maryland, West Virginia and the District. If he's on the road, somebody should hopefully spot him soon."

His gaze shifted to Emily, "apparently there's a um," he cleared his throat, "well, there are some pictures of you on his wall," he looked over to Hotch, "you as well."

At their twin looks of alarm he pulled out his blackberry and started pulling them up.

"They're a bit unnerving," he said apologetically.

He held out his phone and Hotch put the cage on the ground as he took the device from the other man's hand. This time there was no question about letting go of Emily or the cat.

This was clearly NOT the time to let go of Emily.

Holding the phone up for her to see as well, Hotch started scrolling through the pictures that had been taken at Lipsky's apartment. There were dozens of them.

_Jesus Christ!_

Rage and horror began fighting his brain for dominance. Lipsky had definitely been in Emily's home before.

There was a whole row of photos on his wall that showed her sleeping.

Feeling Emily start to shake beside him, Hotch's fingers tightened their grasp on hers as he shot her a look. Her eyes were watering again as she stared back at him in horror. He let go of her hand to slip his arm around her shoulders instead.

All he wanted to do was get her out of there but they needed to know what they were dealing with, and as he looked back at the phone and flipped to the next set he saw that they were clearly dealing with a severely disturbed mind.

Because there was another row.

These were all long range photos. And those were pictures that had been taken with Emily and three other men. The men all had bull's eyes on them. And most of those bulls' eyes were on him.

These photos were taken through her living room window.

Sometimes Emily had him over for dinner after work. Not every week, but since the fall she'd coaxed him over a few times a month. And it appeared . . . based on the number of outfits Hotch was seeing on Emily . . . that Lipsky had been present for every meal since Christmas.

If Hotch ever got his hands on this guy . . . he bit down so hard on his lip that he tasted blood . . . there was no way he was going to live to trial.

His head snapped up as a thought occurred to him, "has anyone checked the apartment building across from Agent Prentiss'? She lives on the 8th floor and these look to be a slight downward angle, maybe nine or ten."

Detective Durant nodded as he took his phone back, "yeah, units just started canvassing both buildings across from Agent Prentiss.' Of course," he rolled his eyes as he added bitterly, "Lipsky wasn't helpful enough to rent an apartment in his own name so we're starting with the empty rentals on the higher floors and going from there. But they're flashing his photo all over. Somebody had to have seen him," he slipped his phone back into his pocket as he raised his eyebrow and gave Hotch a knowing look, "clearly he's been spending a lot of time there."

Hotch's jaw twitched before he bit out a clipped, "yes, _clearly_ he has."

Seeing those pictures had spiked his rage over this whole cluster of a situation. And as a result . . . for just a moment . . . he'd wanted to pound the detective's face into the wall for his insinuation about him and Emily.

But then he realized that he hadn't really meant anything by it.

He didn't know that he was her boss. As far as he was concerned . . . as he'd most likely concluded from the photographs of him in her home and the body language tonight . . . they were just a couple who happened to work together.

And Hotch really could care less what his conclusions were on that front so he didn't bother to clarify the particulars of their relationship.

On the list of things that mattered to him, that one had fallen almost completely off the page.

It was taking every bit of Emily's self control not to break down in hysterics as the full scope of what they were dealing with hit her. As it was her only lifeline to sanity was Hotch. Feeling the strength in his touch was keeping her grounded.

She still wanted to throw up though.

Lipsky _had_ been in her bedroom while she was sleeping! That wasn't just awful speculation. She didn't see how she'd ever be able to sleep in that room again. Not to mention the pictures he'd been taking of her through the window.

Christ . . . she swallowed as the images again flashed through her mind . . . her alone, her and Hotch, her and her dad, her and her cousin Rick. Rick had come over last month to fix her garbage disposal.

She should call him, make sure that he knew to lock his doors.

"I'll need some information from you Agent. I'd like to run down your encounters with Lipsky so far."

Emily jumped slightly at the detective's words and then she nodded, "right," she cleared her throat as she tried to move beyond the horror of those photos, "of course. Um," she shifted closer to Hotch, "before that though can I see where Kelly, uh . . ."

Her voice started to catch and she stopped to take a breath. But before she could finish the question the detective was shaking his head.

"No," he said gently, "no, I don't think that would be a very good idea. There's nothing to see that would be . . . well, there's nothing in there that I think you would want to see."

At that pronouncement Hotch winced before he looked over at Emily. She was biting her lip . . . trying not to cry.

If the detective didn't want her in there even the though the body was gone that meant it had been a bloodbath. Hotch sure as hell didn't want her seeing that either, but that didn't mean that they couldn't learn something from the scene.

But then suddenly Hotch remembered again . . . they already knew who did this. And if it was that bloody inside then clearly he was spiraling out of control.

Still though, Hotch would like to see just how far gone he was, what could be coming through the front door. So he looked up at the detective.

"Would it be possible for me to go in and just walk through quickly while you take Agent Prentiss' statement?"

Seeing the wariness on the other man's face, Hotch explained.

"We do psychological profiling. We work in the Behavioral Analysis Unit at Quantico. That's why we came here. We had information for you but also, I . . ." he shot Emily a look as he amended, "_we'd_, like to see if there's anything to be learned from the scene that might not be obvious from the physical evidence."

As to whether Hotch would be allowed inside would depend on how open the detective was to the science of behavioral profiling. It had been his experience that these things could go either way.

Durant twisted his jaw for a moment before he nodded, "sure, okay. I don't see the harm." Then he shrugged, "every little bit helps, right."

Hotch let out a breath as he nodded, "right."

It wasn't a ringing endorsement of his chosen profession, but Durant was at least going to give him a chance to look around.

All he needed was two minutes.

He turned to Emily as he said emphatically with a squeeze of her hand, "I'm just taking a walk through the apartment and then I'm coming right back out the door. I'll only be a minute but you stay RIGHT here with Detective Durant inside the yellow tape, okay?"

Given what the photos they'd just seen he was probably as wound up as she was. And he didn't want to leave her for even a minute, but this was important. This could help him prepare for what was coming. And this doorway was about the only place in the world that Hotch could guarantee that Lipsky wasn't at this exact moment in time.

Emily nodded as she said softly, "okay."

She knew that she was safe where they were, but still the last thing she wanted was for Hotch to leave her alone. But it wasn't the sense of safety that she was getting from him, it was the sense of control.

His presence was a comfort.

But still, she knew that what he'd said to the detective was correct . . . she reluctantly let go of his hand . . . one of them needed to go in there to see what had happened to Kelly.

That's why they had come here.

For a moment though Hotch continued to grasp her fingers as he looked at her intensely. She thought he was going to say something else but instead he shifted the cage over to her and then disappeared through the doorway without another word.

She looked after him for a moment before she turned to face the detective. Then she took a breath to try to calm her nerves.

It was time to play victim again.

"Where do you want me to start?"

* * *

_A/N 2: Yes, Hotch was pretty touchy here but I see him as being a person who, once he allows the softer Aaron part of himself to come out to someone he cares about, having a hard time pulling that Hotch persona on again. Like in canon, he's generally more relaxed when it's just him and Rossi by themselves, even when they're working. And I see that as being because Rossi calls him Aaron so it kind of keeps that part of him accessible. So here, now that he's decided that he needs to be more approachable so that Emily won't go through what she did when Matthew died, that it would be hard for him to shift back and forth between that softness and accessibility and the detachment of being Hotch. He can only be one man at a time, and for now he's decided to be Aaron for her._

_As to them having dinner even if they weren't involved, I was sort of working in the canon from the season 5 opener. When Emily strolled up to his apartment door like she'd been there a hundred times before. And then saying later that nothing looked out of place. And with this being a story that, as much as possible, I'm trying to kind of incorporate canon to this point in time, it stands to reason that they were spending personal time in each other's homes. So a few dinners a month made sense as a starting point there.  
_

_I find the whole idea of somebody taking pictures of you while you're sleeping MOST distressing! You kind of picture the end of the Silence of the Lamps with the flashes of light and that clicky sound as the camera goes off. Freaks me out. Yes, it's bad enough that somebody's taking pictures of you without your knowledge (the paparazzi creep me out too) but to know that they were in your home. Bleh. I'd be jumping out of my skin. _

_Not so much with the continuous suspense here but that's not really sustainable unless we're going for a full on constant peril/jeopardy thing. If you're looking for that you can get it over in The Snake Pit, a story that covers a MUCH shorter period of time. This is going to go on for extended days, perhaps weeks, so they won't all be cliff hangery. Still though, hopefully you enjoyed it :)_

_I'm trying to get a Girl up this week but I'm having a little trouble with my fluffy muse. And it's a Jack chapter so clearly, fluff abounds. Worst case, you'll get something else here. That is the benefit of having stories with so many different themes, there's usually someplace to play._


	4. Lonely Souls

**Author's Note**: My muse is all twitchy right now. She won't work on anything but the dark and twisty stuff so I just have updates on this and Pound of Flesh. I too am looking forward to the next Girl update but if my brain isn't in the mood then it just doesn't come. Again, thank you everyone for the feedback. I'm just happy so many people are enjoying the story so much. Hopefully that will continue :)

I started proofing this over the weekend and ended up adding a bunch of stuff to it. So you know, it's longer :) If you see any typos, consider this is like 10,000 words and I always miss something when they're that long. But I generally do catch everything when I read the published version, which will probably be tomorrow.

Moving things along a bit, this picks up a couple hours after we left them.

* * *

**Lonely Souls**

"Take the next left."

At the global navigator's instruction, Hotch hit the directional . . . checked his mirror for the fiftieth time to make sure Lipsky wasn't following them . . . and turned off the main thoroughfare they'd been traveling down for the last ten minutes.

It was after eleven and they were in Baltimore County on their way to a twenty-four hour Wal-Mart so they could pick up some supplies for Emily and Daisy. Detective Durant had locked down Emily's apartment as an active crime scene so she couldn't take anything out of there until he'd cleared it.

That process in and of itself would be at least another full day.

Beyond that though, Hotch also knew that the police were planning a reconstruction of the initial attack. And Hotch didn't want Emily within a mile of the place when that happened. So . . . at best . . . he figured they might be able to get back into her apartment sometime Saturday.

But that was if Emily was even inclined to want to go back there so soon.

After all, the chain of events that lead to her friend's brutal murder began at the condo. Not to mention . . . Hotch felt a surge of fury . . . the FUCKING pictures that were taken there! So really he wouldn't be surprised if she needed a couple days before she felt comfortable going into her home again.

Basically this whole night had been one trauma after another for her.

At that thought Hotch felt his anger get overshadowed by a resurgence of protectiveness and he looked across the seat to see the subject of his musings.

His expression immediately softened as he saw Emily cuddling Daisy in her arms.

He sighed as he turned back to the road . . . well, at least being back together seemed to be helping them.

The cat had stopped shaking and Emily had stopped crying.

Though . . . he bit his lip as he shot Emily another look . . . she looked so sad it was just killing him.

He knew that she was blaming herself for Kelly's death. Which was ridiculous but he knew how her brain worked. So when they got home he planned to make sure that he swept those thoughts clear before they cemented themselves into her psyche.

As it was she'd barely spoken an unsolicited word to him since they'd left the second crime scene. The only good thing about her silence was that she hadn't asked him what he'd seen in the apartment. But he knew that it was on the tip of her tongue, and it was going to come up eventually.

God knows though that was one conversation that Hotch did not want to have with her.

True to his word, he'd just done a quick walk through the murder scene and had come right back out to be with Emily while she finished giving her statement. But the two minutes he was in there was more than enough time for him to understand what they were dealing with.

It was bad. Very bad.

The rage he'd seen at the condo was tenfold at the apartment. The message on the wall there was, _'LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO!'_

There were those six words . . . and a lot of blood.

He grimaced as he thought back . . . so much blood.

Kelly . . . due to Emily's emotional connection Hotch had started to think of her as Kelly rather than Agent Hsu . . . clearly had been very much alive when she was taken from Emily's. Those splatter patterns he'd seen could only have come from a beating heart.

God . . . he felt a twinge in his gut as he thought back . . . that poor woman.

All he'd been hoping for as he walked through was that she'd died quickly. But Durant had pulled him aside as they were leaving to say that after the multitude of NON fatal stab wounds, that she'd nearly been decapitated when Lipsky finally sliced her throat.

There would most definitely be a closed casket.

Hotch had seen some ugly things over the years, but tonight was one of only a half dozen times that he'd walked through the murder scene of someone that he knew.

It was so much worse than with strangers. No matter how hard you tried, there was just no way to get through the moment emotionally detached.

This wasn't just another dead body, another victim . . . this was a person. Someone he had spoken to, laughed with.

It had barely been two weeks since Kelly had last been up to the Unit to take Emily to lunch. He'd talked to her for a few minutes as Emily finished up a phone call. And as Hotch walked through Kelly's bedroom . . . once a cheerful yellow and green, now splattered with pools of crimson . . . he kept trying to remember her that day, laughing as she told him a story about Emily's first day at the range. She'd been so nervous that she'd lined up her sites wrong and ended up firing into the target of the guy next to her.

He had not been pleased.

Hotch had chuckled softly as Kelly finished the story. And as he thought back he remembered that day she had been wearing a purple blouse and a charcoal grey suit. And the reason he remembered her outfit was because the colors were quite striking with her black hair and pale skin.

He'd wanted to tell her that purple was a good color for her. That she looked very pretty. But he'd thought it would be inappropriate.

So instead he just told her to have a nice lunch.

That was the last thing he said to the woman as Emily was hanging up the phone. "You two have a nice lunch," and then Emily had turned around and he gave her a little smile before he continued on up to his office.

And all he could think as he walked around the massacre that had taken place in Kelly's bedroom was that he'd wished that he'd said the other thing.

What would have been so wrong with telling her that she looked nice in purple?

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing. But he was always so worried about professionalism and proper decorum that he'd kept that completely innocuous little compliment to himself.

And now that laughing, happy woman, was lying in a cold metal drawer with a sheet pulled up over her lifeless mutilated body.

It was funny the moments that made up your life's big regrets. He never would have thought that such a little thing would now rank so high on the list.

The navigator instructed him to take a right and Hotch changed lanes again . . . the other thing he'd been thinking as he walked through that scene was that he'd also been infinitely grateful that Durant had kept Emily from going in there.

Nothing would have been gained from her seeing that carnage. Hotch had only been a casual acquaintance of Kelly Hsu and even HE'D been haunted by the last thing he'd said to her. Emily didn't need to go through that same hell.

Not to mention what it would have done to her to see the pictures of her and Kelly in the photo collage in the living room.

Them younger, smiling and laughing . . . at the beach . . . at a Christmas party.

One with them together on graduation day from the Academy.

He'd stopped and stared at that one. They had their arms around each other, and they looked so happy. They had their whole lives ahead of them.

So much good to do.

His eyes had started to burn as he saw the smeared red fingerprint on the corner of the frame. Then he'd gone and looked back at the other photos of the two women, and sure enough . . . there was a bloody print on the side of each of them.

Lipsky had killed Kelly and then stopped and tainted all of the pictures of the two of them together.

Seeing those smears would have broken Emily's heart.

As it was he'd seen the misery on her face when he'd come back out into the hall again. So he went into quiet support mode, with a hand on her back as she finished telling her story to Detective Durant.

Hotch had been so proud of her . . . he knew that she was torn up with grief but her voice hadn't quivered once.

They didn't expose their weaknesses to outsiders.

Once Durant had finished updating his notes, they'd passed off their cards to him and had gone with Mr. Kass back to the station so he could process Daisy.

As much as Emily had wanted to stay with her, Hotch convinced her it would probably go faster if they just let Kass do what he needed to do. It took almost a half hour but finally he came back out and said they could come get the cat.

When they'd gone into the lab, Hotch had been incredibly grateful to see that . . . once he'd finished taking his samples . . . Kass had cleaned Daisy's fur. Because really, Hotch hadn't been sure just how the hell they were going to handle that process without ending up in the emergency room.

Cats . . . especially ones who had just suffered a major trauma . . . were not fans of the bath.

But Kass had gloves . . . big, thick, leather gloves with an apron to match . . . and he'd been able to get her scrubbed quite well. To Hotch's eye her orange and white fur looked completely spotless.

Unfortunately the one thing Kass couldn't do for them was give them the cage . . . city property . . . so once Emily had picked Daisy up off the table, Hotch had taken off his jacket and wrapped that up and around the petrified feline.

Given how slippery cats could be they couldn't just depend on Emily's ability to keep her grip. They'd needed something big and loose that would keep Daisy from getting out of Emily's arms if she got spooked.

And Hotch was really hoping that she'd get through the shopping trip without any problems.

Technically . . . he finally turned into the Wal-Mart parking lot at 11:42 pm . . . pets weren't allowed in the store unless they were service animals, but there was no way in hell he could leave Daisy by herself in the car.

After what had already happened they couldn't leave her _anywhere_ by herself.

Not only would Emily have a fit, but Hotch didn't know what he'd do if Lipsky got the cat again but this time it was due to a decision that he'd made.

He'd never forgive himself.

As it was he'd already decided that she was coming to work with them in the morning. The cat could live in his office for the time being.

But . . . he pulled into the parking spot closest to the door and slipped off his seat belt . . . given the possible issues with her presence while they shopped, Hotch figured that for a change he was going to use his badge to get some special treatment.

The cat was coming into the store whether the stored liked it or not.

He was just going to be happy when he could get Emily and Daisy home and behind locked doors. Unfortunately he was only on the first floor, but . . . he opened his door and circled around to collect his new roommates with a twitch of his jaw . . . if Lipsky came through a window he was going out in a bag.

That outcome was not in doubt.

After Hotch opened her door, Emily swung her feet out and slowly stood up with Daisy in her arms. The cat of course immediately started to squirm in the open air, and Emily felt a pang of sympathy knowing that she just wanted to go hide somewhere.

That's what Emily wanted to do too.

But that was going to have to wait until they got to Hotch's, so for the time being Emily just tightened her grip on the wriggling little mass. But fortunately Hotch was quick on his feet, and he pulled his jacket up around the sides where Daisy was trying to get her paws out.

"We used to have to do this with Jack," Hotch murmured ironically as he fixed the wrap. Then his eyes slid over Emily's shoulder to check out the parking lot.

Though they were far from anywhere Lipsky could track them, Hotch was . . . as a rule . . . very uncomfortable being exposed out in public.

Especially at night when he couldn't see a damn thing.

And even though Emily was not his wife and Daisy was not a child, he couldn't help the feeling of déjà vu he had from the days when he used to go shopping with Haley and Jack.

For a second a faint smile touched Emily's lips at Hotch's comment, but it quickly faded as they started across the parking lot.

Kelly was dead. It felt wrong to smile.

Also, this was an exposed area which was making her a little nervous. But then she reminded herself that they were completely outside of any established routine. They were five counties up and over from their homes. And neither she nor Hotch had been to this Wal-Mart before . . . they didn't often have use for 24 hour discount retail shopping . . . and with the way that Hotch drove there wasn't a chance in hell that they'd been followed.

So unless Lipsky was psychic, there was no way that he was here with them right now.

Still though, she was relieved when they stepped through the sliding doors. She was so tired and depressed and sad that she would have loved to have just gone right back to Hotch's when they were done at the lab. But unfortunately they had no cat food or litter. And though they could have bought those things at a 7/11, Emily also needed to get a cage for Daisy.

Not to mention . . . she paused as she saw a store associate heading for her . . . she needed a few things for herself.

Lipsky had completely tossed her bedroom so her underwear was all going in the trash. The rest of it, well, she'd love to throw all of it out on principle, but she wasn't independently wealthy so she couldn't afford to buy a completely new wardrobe. She'd resigned her to just washing everything else.

But that wasn't even an option until she was allowed back into her apartment, which would be at least another day or two.

So for now . . . Hotch flashed his badge at the greeter that tried to stop her and Daisy . . . she needed to pick up some basic supplies to hold her through the weekend at least. She really wasn't very keen on going back to her condo at all so even they could go there on Saturday, she wasn't sure if she'd want to.

But . . . she flinched as Daisy jammed a claw into her shoulder . . . she was obviously going to have to get over that eventually.

/

After Hotch got the number of the pet care aisle from the greeter, he grabbed a cart and he and Emily headed down towards the back of the big box store.

They definitely needed the cage first.

Daisy was . . . Hotch eyed the constantly squirming feline warily . . . not at all happy being out in public. But that was understandable.

Hotch wasn't at all happy being out in public either.

So the sooner they got out of there the happier everyone would be.

Fortunately they found the pet aisle quickly . . . it helped that Wal-Mart only had maybe two layouts and this one looked like the one near his old house with Haley . . . and Hotch stopped the cart and reached up to grab a cage from the shelf. Then he paused as he looked between Emily and Daisy and the other carrying options.

He decided they'd probably do better with the soft canvas carrier bag.

They were going to be carting this cat with them everywhere. And the soft bag would allow Daisy and Emily to stay together when they were traveling without Daisy getting loose or Emily suffering any major flesh wounds from wayward claws.

As it was . . . Hotch unzipped the side of the bag . . . it was obvious that Daisy's claws were digging into her now. Emily kept wincing as she shifted her in her arms.

And that was with her coat on and his jacket wrapped around the cat.

Hotch set the carrier on the floor before he reached over to take Daisy from Emily.

During the transfer the back of his knuckles accidentally brushed against Emily's left breast and he again flashed on Haley and Jack. It was the oddest correlation.

And so strange that he couldn't shake it.

He watched Emily for a moment as she winced and rubbed the side of her neck.

"Did she get you?" Hotch asked sympathetically as he tightened his hold on the squirming feline.

Emily nodded as she looked down at her fingers to see if there was any blood, "yeah, a few times, but I don't think they're too bad. My coat was thick enough to block most of them." Her nose wrinkled as she looked up at him, "I don't know what she's doing to your jacket though. I might have to get you a new one."

It was one thing when she thought they'd just have to get the cat hair dry cleaned off. But now she was thinking that it was probably covered in catches. Though that didn't seem to concern Hotch as she saw him just shake his head dismissively.

"Don't worry about it," he looked down at the cat carrier bag on the floor, "if you hold that steady I'll slip her inside."

"Right," Emily leaned down, suddenly feeling the exhaustion of the day settling over her as she gripped the sides of the cloth bag, "ready."

Hotch made quick work of getting Daisy contained, and fortunately she seemed less stressed in the smaller space.

Once she was settled in the corner Hotch started to reach back to take the jacket out and then said screw it. It's not like he was putting it back on right then. If it was even salvageable it needed cleaning and pressing so he decided to just leave it in there as a blanket for her.

She could hide in it until they were out of the store.

After Hotch tucked Daisy in, Emily reached inside to pet her behind the ears as she murmured, "good girl, we're going home soon."

Well, not home . . . she thought sadly . . . home was out for awhile. But she actually was feeling much better about staying at Hotch's, which would be home for a few days.

Maybe a week.

And the reason that she was feeling better about these temporary living arrangements was because she knew that staying with Hotch was the one place that they would be completely safe.

After everything that had happened tonight, even if her condo had been an option, she definitely wouldn't have gone to her home. Emily bit down hard on her lip . . . not after seeing those pictures.

Really she wouldn't have been relishing sleeping anywhere by herself. But knowing that Lipsky had been all through her apartment, touched her things, stood in her bedroom and did God knows what while she was sleeping . . . _Oh God!_

Emily's earlier disgust and panic began to roar up again, along with a wave of nausea. But she tried to shake it off before she made herself sick.

Seeing the shudder suddenly go through Emily's frame, Hotch . . . who was still crouched down next to her . . . reached over and put his hand on her back.

She'd understandably been incredibly skittish all night so it didn't surprise him that she jumped slightly at the touch before she turned to look at him.

Her eyes were wide as she said worriedly, "Hotch now that I've seen those pictures I don't know how I'm ever going to be able to sleep in my apartment again."

What if this was becoming a conditioned response to what had happened? What if she started to feel sick and panicky the moment she walked in the front door?

What the hell was she going to do then!?

Hotch's expression softened in sympathy, "your worries are completely understandable Emily. But remember that it's still early days. Why don't you see how you feel after we catch him? Then we'll clean out your room, we can replace everything if you want. I know that would be expensive but I can loan you some money. But," he zipped the mesh end of the carrier before he slowly rose to his feet tugging her up with him, "if you decide that you just don't want to go back there that's fine too. You're welcome to stay with me until you figure out what you want to do."

Though these were of course terrible circumstances, he couldn't deny that it would be nice to have somebody else around the house for a little while. He'd lived with a woman for twenty years and he'd become accustomed to it. The silence and just being, well, alone, those things were a huge adjustment for him when Haley left.

Emily gave him a sad smile as she nodded, "okay, thanks."

He really was being so sweet tonight. After all of this was over she was going to have to try and think of some way to repay him for being so good to her.

A faint smile passed over Hotch's lips as he shook his head, "no thanks necessary."

He had a small spare room but it was certainly big enough for Emily and Daisy. Right now it was where Jack slept when he came to stay. But . . . depending on Hotch's travel schedule . . . Jack was only there for one or two days a week. So Hotch figured he could get a trundle bed and put that in his room for his son to sleep on while Emily was staying with him.

Actually . . . Hotch felt a stab of cold fear as he suddenly flashed on the bulls eyes in the photo array . . . it would probably be best if Jack stayed with Haley until this situation was resolved.

And maybe he'd put an agent on Haley's place.

Granted Jack had no direct connection to Emily, but she had met him a few times. And if Lipsky had been watching her for as long as they thought, then it's possible that he'd seen her with Hotch and Jack. It was a long shot that he'd have any interest in his son . . . Jack wasn't in any of the photo arrays . . . but when it came to the safety of family, Hotch didn't believe there was such a thing as being too cautious.

And that thought suddenly reminded him of something Emily still needed to do.

"Your father," he said urgently, "you never called him."

Emily had just leaned down to slip the carrier strap over her shoulder when her eyes widened and she cursed.

"Shit!" She hurriedly pulled her phone out, "I meant to do that in the car!"

While they were waiting for Daisy to get processed Emily had called her cousin, but that conversation had taken a little longer to get through than she had expected. Rick hadn't really comprehended the danger, his first response was to offer to "kick Lipsky's ass," so by the time she'd given him the abridged version of what had happened to Kelly, they were being called in to pick up Daisy. That's why she hadn't had a chance to call her dad before they left the station.

Still though . . . she thought bitterly . . . there was no excuse for forgetting in the car.

As Emily started dialing her parents' number, Hotch leaned down to pick up Daisy off the floor.

She was starting to meow.

Loudly.

"Shhh," he whispered as he put the carrier on the top of the carriage, "we're leaving in a minute."

Not unsurprisingly that didn't really quiet her down, so Hotch unzipped the flap and put his hand inside to scratch her ears.

There . . . he sighed . . . silence.

Though he'd had no pets as an adult, they'd had cats when he was little so Hotch was comfortable around them. If pressed he supposed he'd say that he was fond of them.

They weren't as messy as dogs.

His mother was a cat person though, so maybe it was genetic. Even now she had two calicos, but Hotch had noticed that they didn't really seem to care for him.

But fortunately so far . . . he scratched his thumb under Daisy's chin . . . he and Emily's cat seemed to be getting along just fine.

So he stood there, petting . . . bonding with . . . Daisy as he listened to Emily call her father. And then she haltingly . . . somewhat painfully . . . tried to explain to him about what had happened tonight. Her voice caught a few times when she was talking about Kelly and after the second time Hotch reached over to rub her arm.

Though he'd not previously ever been so tactile with her, today he was finding it impossible to see her in pain and not attempt to offer her what little bit of comfort that he could. And the more he touched her, the more comfortable he was becoming doing it.

It was like a faucet had been turned on and now he couldn't turn it off.

Hotch's brow creased in sympathy as Emily's voice became husky with emotion. And he could also tell from her side of the conversation just how upset Mr. Prentiss was.

Being a father, Hotch knew exactly where the other man was coming from though. And in his position Hotch would be doing the exact same thing that Emily's father was clearly doing.

Trying to convince his child to move back home.

Emily looked over at Hotch helplessly as she continued talking into the phone, "dad, really, I _promise_, I'm okay. I'm staying with Hotch for the time being and I'll be totally safe there."

This was the third time she'd tried to deflect his offer to stay with them but her father just wasn't listening to her tonight. And at his next request her jaw twitched and then her expression morphed to one of embarrassment as she pulled the phone away from her ear and held it out to Hotch.

"He'd like to speak to you."

God . . . she closed her eyes as Hotch took the cell from her hand . . . this was so embarrassing. The only thing she was grateful for was that this wasn't their first conversation. The two of them had met last year at Emily's Christmas party and they'd gotten along quite well.

Her father had been very impressed with Hotch and since then had asked after him whenever Emily had dinner at her parents. So she'd thought for sure that him simply knowing that she was staying with her boss would have been enough to alleviate most of his immediate concerns.

But no.

Now she watched anxiously as Hotch turned away from her and lowered his voice. Though she couldn't hear what he was saying, when he turned back a minute later he was closing her phone and his eyes crinkled slightly as he handed it back to her.

"All set. Your father said to tell you that he loves you and that he wants you to call him tomorrow to let him know how you are."

Emily's jaw fell open slightly before she asked in amazement, "what did you say to him?"

Her dad had been so adamant that he wanted to her stay at the house . . . they had round the clock security . . . so she'd thought for sure that her father was going to try to cajole Hotch into convincing her to go there.

Hotch gave her a sad smile, "I made him a promise, one father to another."

That's all Mr. Prentiss had wanted . . . an assurance that his child would be safe with him. And that was fortunately one promise that Hotch could keep.

Her eyes now stinging, Emily stared back at Hotch, "oh," she swallowed, "thanks."

Okay . . . she wiped the corner of her eye . . . she really needed to get home before she started crying again. Clearly she was so overstressed that everything was triggering an emotional response now.

So . . . in an effort to get them moving out the door . . . she quickly blinked and turned to look at the cat products on the shelf behind her. She started filling the cart.

. . . litter box

. . . bag of Friskies

. . . jar of treats

. . . box of wet food cans

As she stooped down to pick up the bag of litter, Hotch touched her shoulder, "I'll get it."

Though Emily was capable of getting it herself, it was heavy, and if he wanted to lift it for her . . . she stepped out of his way . . . then she wasn't going to argue about it.

Once he'd hefted the 20 lb bag of litter over the side of the cart, Hotch looked back at Emily as he asked, "what do you need to get for you?"

Her ready bag was back at her condo, locked up with everything else until Durant let it all go.

"Um," she started pushing the cart towards the main aisle so they could go to Health and Beauty, "just basic toiletries and some makeup," she rolled her eyes as she added bitterly, "and all new underwear."

Hotch's lips pursed in sympathy, "right."

Basically she'd been violated in half a dozen ways tonight. And as he thought about that his hand again fell to her back as they walked along.

Touching her was definitely become a matter of routine and he worried that it was going to be a little difficult to keep his hands to himself tomorrow when they went back to the office.

But . . . he shook his head slightly as they moved over to the shampoo aisle . . . that was the least of their concerns at the moment.

So he refocused on their most pressing issue, getting through their shopping trip so they could get home, go to bed and finally put an end to this awful day.

Fortunately Emily knew exactly what she needed and once they'd picked up her items they circled over to the women's intimates. While Emily picked out some underwear and another bra to tide her over for a few days, Hotch grabbed a few packs of black socks for her.

As he tossed them into the cart Emily gave him a soft smile, "thanks."

It should seem weird that Hotch was helping her buy underwear but, strangely enough, it wasn't. She didn't know why that was though. Maybe because in contrast to the rapes and assaults they discussed regularly that this was such a mundane little thing.

But whatever the reason, she was just grateful that this particular part of the evening wasn't adding to the stress of the night.

Hotch's lip quirked up slightly, "no problem," then he tipped his head to the side. "Do you need anything else tonight?"

She sighed heavily, "well, I don't even have my go bag so I don't have any clothes at all," then her brow wrinkled, "but I don't really want to have an entire new wardrobe from Wal-Mart."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth she cringed, "and God does that sound really shallow right now."

Actually given everything that had happened tonight that sounded just awful! Kelly was dead . . . butchered . . . and yet some part of Emily still cared about something so stupidly superficial.

God . . . her eyes started to tear up . . . what was WRONG with her?!

Seeing how appalled Emily was at what she'd said, Hotch quickly moved to alleviate her concerns, "hey," he squeezed her fingers as he said softly, "don't beat yourself up, it's not a big deal. You can't help feeling the way you feel," he tried to distract her before the tears spilled over, "why don't you just pick up a pair of jeans and a couple shirts. Tomorrow's Friday, we'll just address your larger clothes situation this weekend."

On Saturday . . . if the police let them in . . . they could go to her place with a couple of the guys and she could get her go bag out of the living room and some suits out of her closet. As far as Hotch could tell most of the stuff that Lipsky had rifled through was from her dressers. So they'd throw out what she wanted gone and salvage what she wanted to keep.

She could take care of the washing at his place.

Seeing the wisdom in Hotch's plan, Emily tried to move past her feelings of guilt and disgust as she blinked and nodded, "okay," she swallowed, "okay, that sounds like a good idea."

It was nearly midnight, and she was completely at the end of her rope. And clearly this was not an issue that needed a great deal of attention at the moment.

So with a heavy sigh, Emily led Hotch down to the other end of the women's ware area and she picked up two long sleeved shirts, one red and one blue, and then a pair of Levi's.

With that and what she was wearing she figured that she was good until Monday. So she looked up at Hotch.

"I'm ready to go."

Hotch checked his watch . . . just over twenty minutes . . . he started walking them to the registers. That was pretty good given the stop to call her father.

Now . . . he took a breath as he eyeballed a weary Emily . . . home.

/

As he drove into his apartment complex Hotch saw that Durant had put a cruiser out in front of his place too. It wasn't something that the detective had mentioned, but Hotch was incredibly relieved to see it. He knew that the city had to be stretching their resources pretty thin on this case so he didn't think the protective detail would last long. But that was okay. Ordinarily he (and Emily) could take care of themselves just fine. It was just that tonight they needed a little extra help. Even before all of this had happened they'd been coming off four days of a hellish case.

She was a mess and he was exhausted.

Exhausted, starving and . . . though not quite as emotionally wiped as Emily . . . definitely stressed and in need of some recuperative rest. At least with the cruiser out front he wouldn't have to camp out in the living room with his Glock and a pot of coffee.

Hotch was pleased that they also actually got out of the cruiser when he and Emily started heading to the door. It was obvious that they were actually paying close attention and not considering this an easy gig.

After introductions were made with Officers Jefferson and O'Leary, Hotch, Emily and Daisy continued on into the building.

When they got inside Hotch dropped the bags in the living room, hit the deadbolt and then led Emily down to the spare room so she could let Daisy out of her carrier. He knew it would be best to let the cat get settled somewhere she could feel safe. And as he'd expected, as soon as she was free, she immediately went running to hide under the bed.

Emily stood there for a moment and she looked so wiped that Hotch was going to just tell her to lie down and he'd take care of everything else. But then she shook her head slightly and stepped passed him to go back to the living room.

He looked after her for a moment and then sighed as he followed her back down the hall.

/

After Hotch hung up their coats, helped Emily unpack her purchases and take care of Daisy's needs . . . he set up the litter box while she put out the food and water . . . he did a quick walk through the apartment to check the windows.

All the locks were good and nothing looked amiss outside.

When he came back into the living room he stopped short when he saw Emily. He'd left her taking the packaging off of her new makeup, and now she was standing in the middle of the room with her arms wrapped around herself as she stared down at the carpet.

"Emily," he said softly as he walked over, "are you all right?"

Emily slowly shook her head, "no," she looked up at him sadly, "no, I'm not."

For a few minutes she'd been able to distract herself with mundane chores. But then Hotch had left the room and her main distraction was gone. That's when her conscience and her guilt and fear had started eating away at her again.

Everything had fallen apart. Her sense of safety, her confidence in herself, her confidence in her own abilities.

Everything . . . she took a breath to hold the tears at bay . . . everything was ruined.

Kelly was dead and it was all her fault.

Hotch's eyes locked with Emily's and, seeing the anguish on her face, he felt his heart constrict.

This was not his Prentiss.

At work Emily Prentiss exuded confidence and strength. She looked after everyone. The victims, the team, the families . . . even him. She was the den mother, always helping everyone else get through struggles while she tried to hide her own pain behind a smile and a joke.

But he'd started seeing through her deflections a long time ago.

She hurt as much as he did.

How could she not? This job took so much from all of them. And he'd been trying to find a way to help her deal with that. But it was so hard when even after all of these years he was still trying to find his own way.

Before he had his family, but last year he'd been forced to start coping from scratch. And Emily had done so much for him during that painful period. Staying faithfully at his side as they covered one terrible case after another. Absorbed one horror story after another.

Even though he'd never asked . . . never _would_ ask . . . she'd been helping him find his way again after the divorce . . . after New York.

Even after Colorado.

What happened to her that day had shaken him to his core. He'd failed her. Utterly and completely failed her. As her leader, as her friend . . . and simply as a man.

He hadn't been able to protect her from that beating. That beating that could have killed her.

And after what had already happened that year, that could have been the final nail in his coffin. He might not have been able to continue on with the unit.

But when she came out of that compound, battered and bloody, rather than screaming at him for sending her into that hell . . . she'd hugged him and whispered in his ear that it wasn't his fault. And that he wasn't to blame himself for things that he couldn't control.

Though he couldn't escape the responsibility for putting her in harm's way . . . there was no escaping that guilt . . . her forgiveness had been the only thing that meant anything to him. Because by that point in the summer he had started to rely on her being at his side. And if she'd pulled away from him then in anger, in resentment . . . he didn't know what he would have done.

He definitely wouldn't have made it as far as he had.

Because really, without her quiet support since the divorce, the calls to check on him after he had a bad day, the monthly dinners, the little jokes as they got coffee in the morning, all of that . . . his jaw twisted as they stared at each other . . . all of that had kept him from sliding completely into the darkness.

So it was time to return the favor. It was time to offer her support, to keep her spirits up . . . to show her that she wasn't alone in this.

And to do that he needed to extend himself in a way that he wouldn't ordinarily. He needed to extend himself in a way that would be a comfort for her.

She needed not just a sympathetic shoulder or a pat on the back . . . no, those were things that he needed when he had a bad day.

What she needed now was a hug.

A real one. Not just a 'bodies almost touched because he was trying to shield her grief from the world at large,' kind.

Hugs weren't usually something that he was comfortable giving. They were so personal. Taking someone's space in the world and making it your own.

How could people not see how personal that was?

Though he was always affectionate with his family, the rest of the world he worked so hard to keep at a distance. If someone couldn't touch you they couldn't hurt you.

That one was simple.

Still though, those were his issues . . . he put his hand out to her . . . and he shouldn't let them affect his ability to help her now.

As she tentatively grasped his fingers, he saw her eyes start to glisten again and he felt a tightening in his chest.

Seeing her hurting caused him physical pain. And that meant he needed to do something to help her.

That one was simple too.

So he put his other hand out and slowly ran it along her bare forearm. He saw her bite her lip just before her eyes dropped to the carpet again.

She was about to start crying.

And that was when he took the last step separating them and pulled her to his chest. The last time . . . the _only_ time . . . that they had hugged previously was the night that she was released from the compound.

That night she had initiated. And that night he'd been wracked with guilt, trying to be mindful of her injuries.

But today he had no such concerns. Today he just wanted to remind her that these burdens that she was carrying, that they were his burdens too.

She wasn't carrying them alone.

So he squeezed her tightly against his body . . . waiting until all the tension had left her, waiting until she was completely soft in his arms . . . and then he tipped his head down to whisper in her ear the things that needed to be said.

"This isn't your fault," was the first one. "You didn't do anything wrong," was the second.

All the years that he had been doing this, all the women that blamed themselves for wearing their skirts too short or their blouses too low. It was all bullshit. Even somebody like Emily, somebody trained to know it was bullshit, he knew that she'd been thinking these things too. He'd seen it in the shame as she'd looked away from him earlier in the night. In the guilt on her face as they stood outside of Kelly's apartment.

Her decisions were haunting her.

She thought that she should have done things differently from the beginning. That she should have seen what Lipsky was the night she met him in the restaurant. That she should have told everyone what was happening weeks ago.

But none of that mattered now. It was all bygones. And as he felt the warmth of her tears on his chest, he continued whispering things that she already knew to be true.

"These things just happen Emily. You _know_ that these things happen every day and you can't control them. It's on him, not you. But you're NOT a victim, you're the strong one," his voice got husky as he rubbed her back, "you're the one I've been leaning on all year."

He was quiet for a moment as he got his emotions under control again. This wasn't about his problems, it was about hers. So he cleared his throat and began again.

"We're going to take care of this together. We're going to get this guy out of your life one way or another," he paused before adding softly, "but to do that you have to trust me Emily. You have to let me in. Can you do that?"

They were close, had been growing closer still, but they still didn't have that kind of relationship.

The sharing kind.

That was totally his fault though. Whatever advances had been made in the depth of their relationship were all due to her continuing efforts to reach him. But he was so used to holding everyone at arm's length that even after it became clear to him that Emily had broached all of his defenses, he'd still tried to keep that little bit of distance.

All because he was afraid of being hurt again.

Haley had broken his heart when she'd left and taken Jack away. But Emily wasn't Haley. And if he hadn't been keeping that wall between them for the sins of another woman, then maybe he would have known about her blind date with Lipsky. And then maybe he would have asked her how it went and she would have told him that the guy gave her the creeps. And maybe he would have looked into him.

Who was he kidding? He _definitely_ would have looked into him.

So really, the chain of events that had led them here tonight could just as easily circle back around to him and the decisions that he had made. If he'd been more open with her, more accepting of her efforts to deepen their friendship, then maybe they could have discovered weeks ago what was happening.

It was a big what if, but Hotch couldn't deny that it was a plausible chain of events. And with Emily still crying softly against his chest he couldn't stop all of those what ifs from rolling around in his head.

Emily was silence for almost a minute as she considered Hotch's question. Finally she sniffled and murmured back, "I can if you can."

Still teary eyed, she tipped her head back to look at him.

"I know I need your help. And," her voice caught, "I'm so grateful that you're in my life. But," she wiped her hand across her face, "I can't be the only one here whose whole life is exposed."

Seeing the confusion on his face, Emily reached up to touch his cheek as she said sadly, "don't you see? That's going to screw things up in the long run. When this over, if you're still you, strong and silent, holding everything in, keeping me and the rest of the world at a distance, and I'm now completely defenseless, my life torn apart and no secrets left," bitterness tainted her words, "the helpless woman that you needed to protect," she shook her head, "we won't ever be able get back to any kind of even ground."

She knew that if she opened herself up to him and he gave nothing in return that she'd end up having to transfer out when this was all over. She'd be too embarrassed to stay.

Hotch stared at her, feeling the warmth of her skin on his face . . . and as much as it pained him . . . he saw the truth in what she was saying.

Their friendship . . . their relationship, whatever it was . . . couldn't sustain such an uneven shift in power.

It would splinter and fall apart.

So if was to help her now then he was going to have to let her into his life as fully as he was asking her to let him into hers. For everything that he'd be taking from her, he was going to have to offer up the same of himself.

But . . . his eyes shifted away from hers . . . was that something that he could do?

This wasn't just extending himself as far as a hug. This was dropping all of those walls that he'd so carefully constructed for so many years.

The walls that had driven Haley away, could he lower them for Emily? Could he do that just to help her?

Just to preserve their relationship.

His brow wrinkled in worry as he looked over her head. God knows that he wanted to, but . . .

He felt Emily's hand fall away from his cheek, and his eyes snapped down to see her own mask of detachment was falling down.

She was pulling away.

And for a moment he was a panic as he tried to decide what to do. But then she started to physically push away from him so she could step out of his arms and his decision was made.

Whatever their relationship was now . . . whatever it could become . . . if he couldn't do this for her then he was going to ruin all of it. So if he had let her in then that's what he would do.

No matter how difficult it was.

He tightened his hold on her waist as he nodded, "okay, I promise that if you let me in," he took a breath, "I'll let you in."

It was going to be hard, but he couldn't deny that a small part of him (that part that wasn't terrified that she'd run screaming from all the ugliness) was hopeful about perhaps making a connection with someone again.

A woman . . . his brain whispered . . . making a connection with a woman again.

All right, fine . . . his hand slid along her side . . . a woman. He could admit that much to himself.

For the moment though . . . with her pressed against his body . . . that was about all he could admit.

With her hands flat on his chest . . . ready to push him away . . . Emily stared up at Hotch. She was gauging whether he was truly going to be capable of what he was offering.

It had taken him a moment to answer, a moment when she'd decided that she was asking too much of him. And in that moment she thought that she was going to be in this alone.

But as she saw him looking down at her nervously she knew that it wasn't just an intellectual decision, his heart was in it too. He wouldn't be nervous about somebody holding a gun to his head, only contemplating sharing his feelings.

For Hotch that would be terrifying.

Her expression softened right before she leaned up to kiss his cheek.

When she pulled back Hotch's expression was one of faint amusement.

"What was that for?" He asked curiously.

The kiss had surprised him. She'd never done that before.

But . . . he felt a slight tingle where her lips had touched his cheek . . . it was nice.

She gave him a watery smile, "I know what a big deal it is for you to agree to that, and I'm just very honored that would do it just for me."

As he looked down at her Emily saw him open his mouth to say something in response . . . but then he closed it again and bit his lip. She knew that he wanted to say more.

But he wasn't ready yet.

That was okay though . . . she rubbed his chest . . . for tonight it was enough that he wanted to.

Tonight she would explore the other benefits from this shift in their relationship.

Hugging.

She hadn't thought he could be so . . . comforting. He didn't make her feel weak for leaning on him. She felt like he was sharing his strength, not diminishing hers.

Us and them.

That's what it was. That was the shift. That's what she got from him.

The feeling . . . her eyes started to sting . . . that when he held her, that they were in this together.

And Hotch had not only initiated this embrace on his own, but had offered to change the entire nature of their relationship.

Just for her.

That was something. Something huge. But now wasn't the time to consider what that meant, now was just the time to take a little comfort where it was being offered.

So she slipped her arms around his waist as she placed her head on his chest again. And then his arms moved up to wrap around her once more.

A few seconds later he tipped his head down to rest against hers and Emily's eyes started to water.

All these months . . . almost a year . . . she'd been trying to get him to open up to her. But it took THIS awful thing to make it happen.

God . . . she closed her eyes as Hotch began to rub her back . . . karma really was a fucked up thing.

* * *

_A/N 2: I didn't want to be redundant with my other stories in terms of how I got them together. So I gave their relationship some consideration here. I was going from onscreen canon and trying to get that leap to move them from friends to more in a short period of time. And I kind of stick with the belief that with Hotch, the only way to truly begin a relationship with him is to get him to open up. He's so reserved that until he really breaks that wall down with you, you're just spinning your wheels. And in my other stories, whatever the precipitating event is, there's always a follow up of time where they slowly bond and he starts feeling more comfortable sharing. But here, I figured I'd try something a little different and kind of do a 'push comes to shove' thing. But I thought it was realistic for the reasons they both had in their head. Her entire personal life is now up for grabs. And you can't maintain any type of relationship if one person tramples through the other's life but offers nothing in return. So this way, Hotch will be forced to make an effort that he would otherwise probably not make at this point. _

_As I said, I added a bunch to this, it was like 13,000 words, and then realized I was rolling into what I'd already written for chapter 5 (I'd said previously that I had a lot of the beginning done) so I ended up slicing off the last 4000 words of this chapter and putting that over there. That works out well though because now I can post that like Thursday or Friday. _


	5. Spongebob Cheesy Toast, Security Blanket

**Author's Note**: Happy Easter! :)

Quick pimping of other authors: I'm happy to say that we have three new participants in the forum challenges this week! JazziePerson, LacytheDemonicDuck, and MissCrys (I listed you alphabetically ;)). All H/P stories, so if you're looking for something new to read, go check 'em out :)

This picks up immediately (as in continuation of scene) from the end of the last one. Except now we're in Hotch's head.

* * *

**Prompt Set #16**

Show: Fringe

Title Challenge: Dream Logic

* * *

**Spongebob, Cheesy Toast and Security Blankets**

As Emily sighed against his chest, for the first time all night, Hotch actually felt like he was doing something useful. He knew that he was actually providing some real comfort to her.

So despite the hour . . . and the belief that she needed rest . . . he stood in the middle of his living room holding her. Trying his damndest to be what she needed him to be. And the minutes ticked by, but then finally she lifted her head and looked up at him.

Her eyes were still wet but the tears had stopped.

"Thank you," she whispered as she let go of him and took a half a step back, "thank you for that."

Being with Hotch that way, was the first time in hours that she hadn't felt like she was standing on quicksand.

When Emily moved to step away from him completely, Hotch caught her hand.

"Whatever you need," he said softly, "whatever happens, I'll be here for you. You remember that you can always come to me, okay?"

This was all new, this openness, trying to express himself with Emily in a way that he had only ever really tried before with Haley.

And with Haley he had tried . . . and he had failed.

Then he just stopped trying.

But it was his fervent hope of having a different outcome to his efforts at building trust and openness with this woman in front of him than the one that had left him.

Still though, he knew going into this that at times he was going to slip up and try to keep Emily out. That wasn't something that he _wanted_ to happen, but he knew that it was something that _would_ happen.

There had been too many years of him living his life a certain way for all of that to change completely just because he snapped his fingers. But now that he had opened this door with Emily, Hotch wanted her to have no misunderstandings about what he would do for her.

Anything.

He would do anything for her. Putting his life on the line had never been in question, but the situation with the Vatican had also shown him that, if it came down it . . . though his career was his life . . . he would put his job on the line for her as well. And if he ever got his hands on Lipsky, Hotch also knew that he wouldn't hesitate to kill for her. In his world those were the big three.

Die for, kill for . . . ruin your career for.

To his mind . . . with the exception of his son who took precedence over all else . . . there was nothing else that really mattered in life.

At Hotch's declaration, Emily's expression softened and her eyes began to burn again. As hard as she was trying to be strong and independent, this side of him was impossible to resist.

He was going to break her.

So holding Hotch's gaze steady, Emily stepped back over to him, and then she leaned up to slip her arms around his neck. He once again wrapped her up in his embrace and held her close.

But this time as she felt the hard muscles of his body pressed against hers, a warmth began to pool in her belly. She sucked in her breath.

In that instant all she wanted was for him to take her to bed.

All other considerations about their relationship or possible consequences to such an action were wiped from her brain. Her need for him was so strong that she went to whisper the request into his ear before the moment was lost.

But just as she opened her mouth, Emily realized that she was confusing her desire for him to comfort her with simple desire.

Yes, it would make her feel better for tonight. But it wouldn't fix the nightmare that they had found themselves living in. It would just make things far more complicated in the morning. And Hotch was much too important to her to make such a colossal mistake.

Especially given what he'd done so far for her tonight.

This was a man that she'd started to have feelings for months ago. And tonight . . . finally . . . he'd agreed to knock down the remaining walls between them. So if in her grief, she made a move that they weren't ready for, then she could easily destroy this fragile trust.

And with that thought, she reluctantly pulled away from him again. But then she looked up, their eyes locked, and she could see the hard glitter there.

Her breath caught as she realized that she wasn't the only one feeling what she was feeling at this moment. And for a second she wanted to reconsider her decision. Because when he was holding her, she felt warm and safe.

Making love to him could only intensify that sensation.

Still though, as she saw him bite down on his lip . . . letting her decide . . . she knew that this wasn't the time for them to take such a monumental step.

And she knew that he knew that too.

Whatever it was that had been building between them, it had been slow, and gradual, and had become very dear to them. And she wouldn't lose all of those months of bonding for a few hours of bliss. Because though it was possible sex might make their bond stronger, she also knew that it might set them back. Make things awkward.

More difficult.

And she wasn't willing to risk that outcome. Especially now when his support was so vital to her continued mental and physical well being.

So with a watery smile and a quick peck on the cheek, she reluctantly closed the door on that line of thought.

It was one that she could come back to it some other day.

As Emily leaned back, Hotch felt a conflicting wave of relief and regret.

Not that he hadn't known those feelings of desire were completely out of place right now . . . of course he did . . . but he also couldn't deny how his body had suddenly reacted to hers. But he knew that for them to act on any physical urges would have been a terrible mistake.

Even if she had been the initiator, he knew that he would have been taking advantage of her grief.

And that . . . he brushed her hair back from her face . . . was not something that he could do.

So he pushed those baser urges aside, focusing in instead on the purer elements of his affection for her.

His fingers ghosted along her jaw as he said softly, "it's getting late. You go change for bed while I make you something to eat."

Seeing her about to protest, Hotch shook his head.

"I know that you probably aren't hungry, but you should try to eat something so you don't get sick, okay?"

He'd seen her eat a muffin on the plane but that was almost ten hours ago. And given what they'd be facing over the coming days, she needed to keep her strength up.

Hearing the worry in Hotch's tone, there was no way that Emily could deny him this small request. Not after everything that he'd done for her tonight.

Her eyes crinkled slightly as she nodded her assent.

"Okay, but I'm really not very hungry so maybe," her brow went up, "just some tea and crackers, would that be all right?"

Even though it was her body, Emily wanted to make sure that the intake of food would be acceptable to make him stop worrying.

A faint smile touched Hotch's lips before he huffed, "yes, that's all right. I wasn't going to suggest a three course meal, I just want you to eat something."

And with that he turned away to pick up her new clothes and the bag of toiletries off the coffee table. When he turned back she was just looking at him. He put his hand on her shoulder to begin guiding her back down the hall to the guest room.

The sooner he got her settled, the sooner he could make her snack and the sooner they could both go to sleep. Though Hotch wasn't sure how well he was going to sleep with Lipsky on the loose, as long as the cruiser was out front, he was willing to give it a shot.

When they stepped inside the spare room, Hotch put the blue bag and the clothes on the bed as he said apologetically. "Please excuse the SpongeBob sheets, it's Jack's room on the weekends. We can change them tomorrow."

It was a bit late to get into any of that tonight.

Emily looked down at the happy yellow sponge on the comforter and for the first time all night a genuinely happy smile passed her lips.

Her eyes crinkled as she looked up at Hotch.

"I like them. If it's okay I'd like to keep them on the bed."

It was something silly and cheerful to offset the nightmare she was living right now.

Hotch looked down at the bed and then back up at her as he nodded.

"Sure, whatever you want," then his lip quirked up slightly, "and if we need to change the sheets I have a pair of Shrek ones that we can put on."

Emily smiled softly.

"I like Shrek."

Though she didn't advertise it around the office, she did have a small collection of children's movies in her DVD collection. Again, she found their silly cheerfulness was a good anecdote to the horrors of the job.

Hotch squeezed her hand as he said quietly, "me too."

Sometimes he put Jack's movies on even when he wasn't there. They were just a pleasant background noise that reminded him of his son. And his son adored the big green ogre.

With a sigh, Hotch let go of Emily's hand and turned to leave the room. As he walked down the hall he heard her rifling in the plastic bag before she called out wearily.

"Crap. Hotch I forgot to buy pajamas."

He stopped short in the middle of the hallway . . . shit. He knew there was something they were going to forget.

After he spun back around, Hotch poked his head into the guest room to see Emily looking up at him in dismay.

His brow wrinkled in sympathy . . . given how small this problem was Hotch knew that from the level of upset she was experiencing that her lack of sleepwear had become the last straw for the day. It was well after midnight though, so it was to be expected that she was going to reach her saturation point eventually.

So he quickly moved to smooth things over before forgotten pajamas resulted in tears.

"It's not a problem," he said soothingly, "I can give you something of mine to wear, okay?" He gave her a little smile and then waited a moment until she took a breath and nodded before he headed across the hall to his own room and opened his dresser.

Hotch's jaw twisted back and forth as he looked at what was in his drawer . . . certainly no women's clothes. But he'd thought that he had some flannel pajama pants that had shrunk in the dryer. He'd planned to toss them out but there was nothing really wrong with them so he'd decided to drop them in one of those goodwill boxes outside the supermarket.

But . . . he started digging around in the back of the drawer . . . he just kept forgetting. That turned out to be fortunate tonight though because as he yanked them out of the dresser he saw that they'd definitely shrunk down at least one size.

Emily would have to roll them up but they wouldn't fall off her.

After he had the pants, Hotch went into the next drawer and got an old FBI t-shirt. He had three or four of them but the one he picked was the most worn out so he figured it would be the most comfortable.

Once his hands were full of emergency sleepwear, Hotch knocked the drawer shut with his hip. Then he headed back across the hall and put the pajamas down on the bed next to Emily.

She was sitting on the comforter rubbing her hand across her mouth.

"There you go," his lip quirked up as he gestured to the clothes on the bed, "crisis averted. Just let me know if you need anything else."

Of course pajamas and socks were about the only clothes that he could let Emily borrow without her looking like Annie Hall.

"Thanks," she sighed as she fingered the soft cotton of the t-shirt. Then she looked up at him, "I promise not to spill anything on them."

It was stupid but for some reason three minutes ago forgetting to buy pajamas had seemed like a really big deal. Obviously her ability to differentiate . . . and handle . . . crises big and small was somewhat compromised at the moment.

She just wanted this horrible day to be over.

Hotch's eyebrow went up as he responded drolly, "yes, because that was my biggest concern at the moment. You spilling something on my pajamas."

It wasn't until after the words left his mouth that Hotch realized that his attempt at a bit of levity to lighten her mood might have been a bit insensitive. Though they dealt with murders every day of the week, usually the deaths didn't strike so close to home.

But to his relief . . . rather than getting upset with him . . . he saw Emily's lips twitch for a moment, and he knew that she'd seen that he was just trying to cheer her up.

Thank God. He would have felt terrible if she'd thought that he was belittling her pain.

Even under the circumstances, Emily still felt a glimmer of amusement at Hotch's remark. But unfortunately that brief respite from her sadness faded quickly as she sobered again.

Still though, for just that moment he'd made her feel better. So she reached over to pat his arm as she said softly, "you're being really sweet tonight."

Seeing the slight bit of pink tinge Hotch's cheeks at her praise, Emily gave him a sad smile, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you. I just wanted you to know that . . ."

And she paused as she tried to decide how much she wanted to say at that moment. And then tears pricked her eyes as she remembered all of the things that she would never get to say to Kelly. Even given the dangerous nature of her work, so much of her life she'd spent believing that there would always be time to tell people how she felt about them.

But as was evidenced tonight . . . eventually time ran out.

So Emily steeled her courage as her hand slid down Hotch's arm to take his hand. "I really like this side of you," she said softly as she squeezed her fingers, "thank you for sharing it with me."

It was like having her own private Hotch. Not only did she have the face that he showed to the world . . . a face that she'd grown quite fond of . . . but tonight she'd begun to get all of these softer bits. The little pieces of himself that previously she'd only seen glimpses of, now they were becoming open to her.

It felt like she was being given a special gift and she just wanted him to know that she appreciated it.

How much she appreciated him.

Hotch bit his lip as he stared down at Emily . . . he was starting to see (hope) that perhaps he wasn't the only one whose feelings had become conflicted over the past few months. And in that moment there were so many things that he wanted to say to her.

But he wasn't ready.

His feelings were still too jumbled to even consider broaching such a conversation.

That was his decision, but then he saw the uncertainty on Emily's face and he realized that she'd already made a different decision for them.

She was starting a conversation now.

Whether or not it was the same one that he wanted to have eventually wasn't yet clear. But what was clear was that what she'd said to him wasn't a casual comment for her. Though Emily was always more expressive with her feelings than he was, he could see that one had actually taken something from her.

And that's when he remembered his promise to be as open with her as she was with him. And that meant that even if it made him uncomfortable, that he needed to extend himself in return. He needed to say something.

Something to make them even again.

He took a breath . . . crap. When he'd made that promise he didn't truly realize how hard it was going to be. For years he'd been bottling up his emotions, repressing every spontaneous impulse he had. Changing all of that for Emily was going to be much more difficult than he had thought.

But . . . he slowly exhaled . . . a promise was a promise. And keeping that promise was the only way that he was going to preserve their relationship.

So he squeezed her hand as he whispered back, "I would only do these things for you." A shadow of a smile touched his lips, "you're my favorite."

There. That had to have made them even again. Because that DEFINITELY wasn't something that he wouldn't have said to her yesterday. That was something that he'd been keeping to himself for months.

It was something that he probably would have continued to keep to himself for awhile yet.

And he was a little nervous about her reaction. But in response to his confession, Hotch saw Emily's eyes widen in surprise right before her face lit up. It was the only spark of genuine happiness that he'd seen in her since they got off the plane all those hours ago.

And seeing that bit of light on her face again, he was suddenly infinitely grateful that he'd said what he had.

Then . . . before he knew what was happening . . . she'd tugged him down and pressed her lips to his.

It was just a quick kiss . . . he wasn't even sure if it was intended to be a romantic kiss . . . but for just a moment, all of the horrors of the day were washed away.

And he was happy.

Emily rubbed her thumb over Hotch's lips as she whispered back, "you're my favorite too."

Her hand stilled on his jaw and they stared at each other.

To Emily's surprise, those feelings that she'd had earlier when Hotch was holding her . . . warmth, companionship, safety . . . looking into his eyes now, they had come back to her again.

That's when she realized that it wasn't the physical connection that had triggered them earlier, it was the emotional one.

And she very much wanted to kiss him again . . . kiss him for real . . . but she was afraid that action would lead them back down the path they weren't ready to walk.

So instead she reluctantly let her hand fall away from his face. But to her surprise Hotch caught her fingers, kissing them quickly before he released them with a soft smile.

"I'll go make your tea."

And he disappeared through the doorway.

Emily stared after him for a moment, feeling the loss of him leaving her as though it was something physically taken from her body. That little bit of happiness that she'd felt when Hotch told her how much he cared about her, it was again crushed by the reality of her current situation.

And the emotional depth of her reaction to his departure clearly indicated that she was becoming too dependent on him. But that in and of itself didn't concern her as much as it had earlier in the night. She'd come to see that she could lean on him without losing her sense of self in the process.

Her eyes started to burn again . . . Hotch was providing her comfort, helping her cope . . . she ran her fingers over the soft t-shirt next to her . . . taking care of her.

What would she be doing right now if she didn't have him in her life?

Most likely she'd be in a hotel somewhere in the District, terrified and alone.

Instead . . . she began unbuttoning her blouse . . . she was here in this warm, safe place. If she had the opportunity to wipe this night from her memory the developments with Hotch were the only things about this day that she'd choose to remember.

So maybe . . . she slowly slipped on Hotch's t-shirt . . . something good was coming out of all of this awfulness.

It was something to hope for anyway.

She ran her hands over the navy cotton now covering her. Though it was just a t-shirt, it felt very intimate putting on Hotch's clothes. She'd never had brothers so the only men's clothes she'd worn previously had belonged to ex-boyfriends.

Lovers.

So this was now something else that was special between them.

With a sigh, Emily stood up and unzipped her pants, shimmying out of them before she shook them out and hung them neatly over the end chair next to the door.

They'd be okay for work tomorrow.

Just as she was about to unhook her bra Emily remembered that Hotch was making her a snack. So maybe it would be good if she wasn't bouncing around when he came back in again.

Okay . . . she looked down at the expanse of bare skin she had exposed . . . she should probably put some pants on too. Hotch's shirt fell just above mid-thigh, which would be fine for sleeping, but not really appropriate for whatever her current relationship with him was.

Just as Emily turned to pick up the pants he'd brought her, she suddenly paused as she realized what word had just popped into her head.

Current.

She'd qualified her relationship with Hotch by using the word "current."

As in she expected that it would change in the future. That someday . . . she looked down at her bare legs again . . . the outfit she was wearing would be entirely appropriate for Hotch to see.

Her jaw twisted back and forth for a moment as she considered such a future. Again . . . for just a brief moment . . . the ache in her chest was pushed back by something else.

Something she'd felt when Hotch had held her in the living room. Something she'd felt after she kissed him here in the bedroom.

It was something good and pure.

And apparently some part of her could take those feelings and project out a possible future with this man who had opened his home to her.

This man who had promised to open his heart to her.

"Emily, are you all right?"

Hearing Hotch's worried voice, Emily snapped her head up to see him standing in the doorway looking at her with concern.

She had been staring down at her toes for at least a minute. A minute when she should have been putting her pants on before he came back.

Crap.

"Oh, uh, yeah," her cheeks started to feel a little warm as she tugged slightly on the t-shirt to see if she could stretch it down, "sorry, I was just . . . thinking."

Hotch stared at her for a moment, trying to decide if she was really okay or just trying to cover.

The last time he'd walked into the room and found her staring at the ground she'd been on the verge of tears.

Finally he decided that for the moment she seemed all right. Well, if not actually 'all right,' then as well as could be expected.

So after one quick . . . mostly involuntary . . . look at her legs . . . he was a man and sometimes you just couldn't stop your eyes from roving . . . Hotch moved on to the reason he'd come back to the room.

"Okay, well, here," he put down a steaming cup and small blue plate on the nightstand, "I made you some tea and cheesy toast." He tipped his head slightly as he continued, "I thought it would taste better than crackers."

Cheese sandwiches and canned soup were about all he could offer her right now. They should probably go to the store during lunch tomorrow.

If at all possible he'd like to avoid running errands with her after dark.

Emily looked over at the snack he'd made for her. He'd even given her some little graham crackers shaped like teddy bears. They had to be Jack's.

Her eyes started to sting again . . . that was really sweet.

When she looked back at him she made sure to conjure up a smile for his efforts, "thank you, I promise I'll eat everything."

Hotch nodded, "okay, well, uh," he paused for a second, "I'll be just across the hall if you need anything."

It felt strange leaving her alone. All night he'd made a point of not letting her out of his sight for more than thirty seconds, now he'd be leaving her for six hours.

Though his bed was only ten feet away across the hall, it still seemed wrong. And given how obviously distressed she was tonight, he wasn't sure if she was really any happier about him leaving her alone than he was.

He ended up just blurting out the question that was pressing on his brain.

"Are you going to be all right by yourself?" And then realizing that might sound a little sexist, he tipped his head as he elaborated, "I just meant, I could sit with you if you want. You know, if you can't sleep."

Hell he'd drag in a pillow and camp out on the floor if that's what she wanted.

"I'll be okay," she gave him a sad smile, "I'm a big girl, I have to start dealing with this stuff myself."

Just because Hotch was being so sweet and supportive didn't make it right for her to lean on him so much.

Hotch's brow darkened as he stepped closer and took her hand, "no," he said firmly, "you don't. I told you that you're not dealing with this by yourself. We're dealing with it together. And if it would make you feel better, I can sleep on the floor."

Seeing that she was about to turn him down on principle, Hotch picked up her other hand up and tugged her closer. Then he softened his tone, "Emily you know that what happened tonight was a terrible shock to your system. Not only was your friend murdered but your home and your sense of safety have been violated. So it's completely understandable if don't want to be alone."

If their positions were reversed he could honestly say that he wouldn't relish waking up by himself at three in the morning.

Emily was so close to Hotch that she had to tip her head back to look up at him. And God knows with him that close all she wanted to do was confess that yes, actually she was terrified to be by herself.

But what she'd said to him was true.

It was one thing to lean on him to get through this, but he couldn't stay with her twenty-four hours a day for the rest of her life. And what if this wrapped up next week and she had to go back and live in her own apartment again? If she turned herself over to him completely she didn't know how she'd go back to functioning again when she was physically all alone. She wanted them to be closer, but they weren't moving that far along in their relationship yet.

Making him into her security blanket would be dangerous.

So she reluctantly shook her head and lied through her teeth.

"I'm fine Hotch, really. I just . . . I just need to get some sleep. Tomorrow I'll be better able to deal with everything."

Only half of that was bullshit. She really did believe that if she could get some rest that she'd start to get a better handle on things in the morning.

Hotch knew that she was lying. When she told him that she was fine her eyes had shifted away from his for a split second. But he also knew that for some reason this was important to her, staying by herself. And he didn't want to push it and make her defensive . . . it would just cause her more stress.

So he let it go.

"Okay," he tipped his head, "if you're sure."

He squeezed her hands once more before he let them go and stepped back.

"I'll leave my door open."

She gave him a little smile, "okay, thanks."

And then she watched as he turned and disappeared down the hall again. Her eyes started to sting as she looked over at the bed. Then her gaze traveled up and around the room.

_At least there weren't any windows._

/

Hotch woke up as he heard a sound from across the hall.

Crying and yelling.

SHIT!

EMILY!

He grabbed his gun off the nightstand as he leapt out of bed. As he ran across the hall and into the spare room he saw Daisy streak past him right before he found Emily sobbing in her sleep.

This was the other reason that he hadn't wanted to leave her alone.

Nightmares.

With an ache in his heart, Hotch sat down on the edge of the mattress. He put his Glock on the nightstand with one hand as he turned on the lamp with the other. Then he turned around and began rubbing her back as he whispered, "Emily, Emily, you need to wake up now."

He didn't wanted to startle her so it took a few seconds of his quiet cajoling to get through to her subconscious. But then suddenly Emily bolted upright, gasping and crying, clearly in a state of terror. Still in the fog of her nightmare, she shoved him away as she began to grab for her gun on the other side of the bed.

Fortunately Hotch's reflexes were faster than hers and he caught her arm just before her fingers closed around the grip.

"Emily, no!" He said forcefully, "It's me!"

Her trying to shoot him in the night was not actually something that he'd planned for.

Emily blinked as she looked back, her eyes focusing in on his. And when he saw the realization of what she'd almost done hit her, her jaw dropped as she began to cry even harder.

"Oh God Hotch, I'm sorry!" she sobbed desperately, "I'm so sorry!" Biting her lip, she pulled away from him and moved to the other side of the bed.

She was clearly trying to put as much distance between them as possible

Then she turned away, curling into a fetal position as she lay back down again, jamming her fist into her mouth to try to quiet her cries.

She'd just tried to pull a gun on Hotch! How could she DO that?!

Feeling his heart breaking at her sobs, Hotch reached for her again.

"It's okay," he whispered as he rubbed her shoulder, "please don't cry Emily."

But his words did nothing to stop her quiet sobbing. And she looked so pitiful curled into a small ball in the big bed that he could think of only one thing to do.

He pulled back the covers and climbed in next to her.

For a moment his fingers hovered over her arm . . . he was hesitant to touch her, afraid of overstepping whatever new boundaries they were establishing. But he just couldn't see her in so much pain knowing that he might be able to do something to comfort her.

So he reached for her, pulling her back against him as he wrapped her up in his arms. Then he murmured softly in her ear, "Emily it's okay. It wasn't you, it was the nightmare. Your reaction was instinctual."

God only knows what horror show had been playing in her mind when he'd come into the room. His own dreams so far tonight had been pretty horrific.

A half hour ago he'd woken up gasping himself. In his nightmare it wasn't Kelly that had been found nearly decapitated . . . it was Emily.

And as that horrendous image came back to him, he realized that their current stance couldn't get much more familiar than it already was, so he rubbed his hand across her stomach to reassure himself that she was there with him. Then he whispered to her.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"

At his question she immediately stiffened in his arms right before he heard her suck in a ragged breath.

"I was in my bedroom and I woke up . . . and he . . . he was on top of me . . . and I couldn't," her voice broke, "I couldn't get away! I couldn't get him off me and I couldn't get away!

The end came out on a strangled sob as she jammed her fist into her mouth again.

OH GOD! HOW WAS SHE EVER GOING TO SLEEP IN HER OWN HOUSE AGAIN?!

Hearing the terror in her voice Hotch winced in sympathy . . . she's dreaming about being raped. He thought it would be about the murder, but no, her subconscious is terrified that Lipsky's going to get back into her bedroom again.

Get back into her bedroom and she'll wake up with him already on top of her.

Good Christ . . . he felt a burst of rage . . . no wonder she pulled the gun on him! Because it was only by the grace of God that actual chain of events hadn't happened before. Lipsky had been in her bedroom while she slept on three different occasions . . . the pictures were date stamped . . . and at any time he could have gotten the jump on her. He could have taken her gun off the nightstand and then pulled back the blankets and . . . and . . .

Hotch ruthlessly slammed the door shut on the images that followed. Unfortunately he'd had far too many rape cases and his imagination needed little assistance to go down a very ugly road.

_But that wasn't going to happen! It was NEVER going to happen!_

Those words were screamed in his head as he tried to push those horrible thoughts away. And then he realized that he needed to tell Emily that too. Because if this was her greatest fear right now . . . if that's what was feeding her nightmares . . . that meant some part of her believed that it could still happen.

"Emily, you're safe here," he whispered urgently in her ear, "and I swear to you on my son's life that Lipsky's NEVER going to get that that close to you again. You and I are stuck together like glue. And if he comes within ten feet of us he's getting a bullet in his forehead. So you keep telling yourself that . . . that . . . ." his voice caught, "that terrible thing will never happen."

No part of him could use the words rape and Emily aloud in the same sentence.

For a moment she was quiet and then she came back with a watery, "it was so real Hotch. I don't know if I can get it out of my head. He's been in my house. How do I know that he didn't try that before? Maybe I . . ." she bit her lip, "rolled over or something and he got scared. But you saw how close he was when he took those pictures. He could have," she started to cry again, "he could have so easily!"

All of the whatifs wouldn't stop haunting her. These weren't implausible scenarios, this was her mind attempting to fill in the blanks between the photographs.

And she didn't know how to make them STOP!

As her panic began to rise up again, she tried to focus in on Hotch's body wrapped around hers . . . tried to focus in on his promise to her.

And slowly the horrible flashes in her mind began to fade. They didn't disappear completely, but she couldn't deny that Hotch's presence with her was the only thing pulling her back from the brink of hysteria.

Apparently . . . she thought with bitter sadness . . . she did need a security blanket.

Slowly Emily's sobs began to subside, and a few minutes later Hotch felt her grasp his hand where it was wrapped around her waist.

Neither of them said anything else . . . Hotch could think of nothing else to say so he just held her. And after a few more minutes he realized that she'd cried herself back to asleep.

Feeling her soft body in his arms, Hotch stared over Emily's shoulder, across the room to the oak dresser.

For two people that weren't lovers, they were in an incredibly intimate position.

Her breasts . . . though covered in cotton . . . were otherwise unrestrained and pressing against his arm where it was wrapped around her body. And the rest of the t-shirt had ridden up as she squirmed in her sleep. Now it was bunched up around her waist, and though he tried to pull it down a little, for all intents he was pressed against her half naked body.

None of these things had been concerns when she was crying, but now he was debating as to whether he should get up and go back to his own bed.

But he just didn't want to leave her alone.

She'd just cried herself to sleep in his arms. How could he leave her now? What if she had another nightmare? What if she woke up terrified and by herself?

Yes, she wasn't a child but . . . he laced their fingers together . . . she'd suffered a horrible trauma. If she didn't _have_ to be by herself, then why _should_ she be by herself?

He made a decision . . . she shouldn't be.

If she'd wanted him to go then she would have asked him to leave. Or pushed him away. But instead she shared that horrible dream with him and then cried herself back to sleep with his body wrapped around hers.

All right . . . he slowly exhaled . . . that meant it was okay if he stayed.

Once he'd decided to stay, Hotch figured that he was already in for well over a pound so he cuddled her closer, tipping his head down to rest against hers. Then he sighed.

He hadn't slept with a woman like this in over a year.

Nineteen months.

It had been nineteen months since Haley had left him. Thirteen months since their divorce was finalized. He'd slept with two women since then. But . . . though they'd had sex . . . there had been no post coital bonding. Those relationships were purely physical, both set ups from Dave.

Both women were being deployed overseas.

One was an Army officer going to Iraq, the other was a DEA Agent going to Afghanistan. Dave had known that Hotch had no interest in starting up a new relationship so he'd thought they would be perfect for him. And though Hotch had resisted at first . . . he wasn't generally a proponent of what was essentially a one night stand . . . eventually he'd relented.

The arrangement held an appeal that he couldn't deny.

And both women were quite pragmatic about it as well. Nobody was looking for a relationship. They knew he was recently divorced, he knew they were going off to war.

Everyone was just there to get laid.

He took them to dinner at an expensive restaurant and afterwards they went back to her place. What started up in the living room was finished up in the bedroom. And as soon as it was over it was like a script was being followed. They pulled on their robes, and while he got dressed, they made him coffee. He sat in their kitchens and he had a single cup of coffee with these women that could easily be leaving never to see their homes again.

And they sat there and they talked about people they knew who had been deployed, where they had been stationed. The ones who had come home.

The ones who hadn't.

And when their coffee was gone, he wished them luck, told them to be careful, and he was sent on his way with a last kiss goodbye.

It was about as cleanly no strings sex as he could imagine.

And though he'd been grateful for the physical release, he'd found the whole thing to be emotionally depressing.

Because this . . . he ran his thumb over the back of Emily's hand . . . this is what had been missing.

Some real connection with another person.

Though he had sex with those women, it hadn't meant anything. And they talked, but they talked about war. They talked about death.

They talked about important things.

It was like college. Back when you met strangers and discussed grand ideas with people like it all mattered.

Like any of it mattered.

What he really missed was lying in bed with Haley, talking about the scribbles Jack made on the wall, that the price of milk had gone up, that the gutters needed cleaning out.

It wasn't romantic pillow talk, not like when they were young and talked about their dreams for the future. But still those nights curled up with his wife and talking about things of absolutely no importance . . . they were real.

It was his life.

And that's what he missed with those women. A belief that the horrors that he breathed day in and day out weren't all that he was.

That the nightmare wasn't the reality.

Emily began to whimper in her sleep and Hotch stroked his fingers along her cheek until she quieted once more.

Lying here now with Emily was real. And this is what he wanted again. Someone to curl up with at night, someone who would call him Aaron and not Hotch.

He just wanted to someone to love him for him.

This woman . . . Hotch shifted back on the pillow, pulling Emily with him . . . over the past six months he had become emotionally attached to her. And he knew that if he allowed himself to . . . he could love her.

But was that something that he _could_ allow himself to do?

It was the question that had been haunting Hotch since Matthew died. Since he'd realized that his attachment to Emily was no longer professional, or even familial.

It was very personal.

The cold spots in his heart . . . the ones he'd had since Haley had left him . . . when he was with Emily, they felt warm again. Little sparks that would kindle only for her.

He had no idea if his feelings were reciprocated though.

Okay . . . he pictured the smile on her face when he surprised her by accepting the first invitation for dinner, and then he flashed on the kiss she'd given him a few hours ago . . . if her feelings weren't exactly the same then it probably wouldn't take much to convince her to take a chance on him.

But he was just terrified of what came after. At best of course it was a chance to be happy again.

The deck was stacked against that outcome though.

Putting aside for just a moment his multitude of personal issues, the fraternization rules would forbid the relationship on its face.

And then of course he was also her supervisor.

Even if he was inclined to overlook the fraternization policy . . . which he probably could given the limitations Strauss placed on his career advancement . . . the supervisor issue was a genuine problem.

Not only would he be severely disciplined if it came to light, both he and Emily could potentially be reassigned. Even though the Vatican situation had proven to him that if push came to shove that he'd always place Emily over the job, having to make that choice of course still terrified him.

Because that scenario always assumed there were no other options left.

He'd already chosen the job over his personal happiness once. So if the question was ever posed again . . . he had no doubt . . . he would make the other choice.

So if he and Emily were already involved and he had to lose his job to keep her, he could live with that. And he could live with that without bitterness or resentment. He could teach at a university, or do private consulting. Or maybe . . . if his age wasn't a factor . . . he could just transfer to another agency.

He could find some way to make it work. But this was a different question though.

Was he willing to risk his entire career . . . not to _keep_ her . . . but for just the CHANCE of being with her?

He closed his eyes, breathing in her scent . . . maybe.

Maybe he was.

Maybe he was a man fast approaching fifty with a young son that he saw far too little of. A man who had no friends outside of work, a man who worked in excess of seventy hours a week immersing himself in the darkest of human tragedy.

A man who had no life.

So what exactly was he holding onto? He certainly wasn't happy.

He just . . . his eyes began to burn . . . existed.

That's what his life had become, an existence.

And he had no prospects for happiness save for perhaps this woman lying in his arms.

Perhaps this terrible chain of events was presenting him with an opportunity. An opportunity to pick a new path. That's what she wanted, for him to share with her the way he was asking her to share with him.

She might not have meant romantically, but he could start with this and move to that. See how receptive she was to such a change. He had a feeling that she probably would be, but the last thing he wanted to do was make her uncomfortable.

Or God forbid capitalize on her grief.

All he wanted to do now was to make this easier for her. To help her as he should have helped her when Matthew died.

And of course . . . he turned his head slightly to see his Glock sitting on the nightstand . . . to protect her.

As he suddenly flashed on the bloodbath in Kelly's apartment he realized that his gun was much too far away. So he moved his hand back and picked it up. And after he checked the safety, he slid it underneath his pillow.

There . . . he sighed against Emily's hair . . . that was better.

And maybe . . . the clock by the bed showed it was after three . . . that was enough thinking for one night. Tomorrow he'd move forward as he'd promised her that he would.

And that . . . he closed his eyes again . . . that would be a start.

Just as he began to drift off, Hotch felt Emily start to squirm and whimper in his arms. Instantly awake once more, Hotch's eyes popped open as he kissed her temple and murmured, "it's okay Emily, I'm right here."

It was obvious to Hotch that the nightmares were a constant companion tonight. And what he wouldn't give to actually climb into her subconscious and help her keep the demons at bay.

With another painful moan she curled into a ball again as she started to cry in her sleep. For a moment he thought that she was trying to pull away and he considered waking her. But then . . . rather than attempting to move out of his arms . . . she turned and buried her face in his neck.

So he took advantage of the change in their positions to pull her closer, tangling their legs together so she'd feel him with her.

When he looked down a few minutes later the tears were drying and the pinch in her brow was gone. He prayed that meant that the nightmares were gone for a little while too.

Really though, once she'd settled against him, her panicked breathing had begun to even out and he started to wonder if maybe . . . pressed against him this way, with their bodies wrapped together . . . subconsciously she knew that she wasn't alone.

That she was breathing him in as he was her, and that's how she knew that he was there. He was there and there was no way that Lipsky was ever going to get to her.

Maybe this was the way to start whatever new path he was trying to walk down with her. Words meant less than actions. So he needed to not just tell her that he'd help her through this crisis, but continue to show her . . . in every way that he could . . . that he was with her in this.

And . . . he pressed his lips to her temple . . . he wasn't going anywhere.

* * *

_A/N 2: So yes, lots of stuff happened here. Though nothing really happened at all except they went to bed :) Again, always keeping my eye on avoiding redundancies in the relationship build, I figured what the hell, I'm not making this a 50 chapter story so I didn't want to screw around. Let's assume that what we were seeing onscreen in season 4 was the beginning of them developing feelings for one another and these events are a catalyst for moving them forward. That wasn't my initial plan (thought I'd drag it out a bit more) but this story takes place after the episodes where they'd clearly become attached at the hip so I think it works. And rather than do it like I did in Mirror (something I've been skimming trying to see what I did there so as to NOT do it exactly the same here) where Hotch falls for her first and she's initially oblivious, I figure have him fall HARDER first but that Emily's really on the same page that he is. It's just that she's consciously attempting to keep a little buffer so as not to become dependent on him. Assuming that whatever changes happen in their relationship that she's still going to have to move back on her own again soon and she doesn't want to rely on him too much. And he's to the point that he thinks it's time to make up for past wrongs and he's doing his damnedest to step up. _

_I decided to not let Hotch be a eunuch here. And given my own (sadly routine) knowledge of the deployment process, I know that for singles hook ups simply for sex before they go are quite common. And given how I personally know dozens of men and women that have shipped out since 9/11, I see their world being even more intimately acquainted with this process. And I really thought that worked for Hotch. I think I toyed with this idea over in Girl but I definitely think him going through with it jibed better for this version of him. Where he doesn't yet have Emily in his life in the way he does in Girl, so he was just looking to have some physical release._

_To be clear, there was no rape foreshadowing in this chapter. If you're new with me, please know that I don't write 'Emily gets raped' stories. That was just a nightmare. I was playing in Emily's head and trying to think of all the things that had happened that night, which what if would be haunting me the most. And it always comes back to being watched while you're sleeping, knowing that you're in the dark and he was just a few feet away. And then you'd be wondering what he was doing in there BESIDES taking pictures. And all of the terrible things that could have happened. I see that being where your subconscious would become obsessed._

_I have to go cook asparagus now for dinner but I'm hoping to put up one more chapter later tonight._


	6. Emily Meets a Guy Named Aaron

**Author's Note****: **This wasn't on the list of possible posts this weekend because I didn't realize I'd actually brought this chapter to a point of conclusion. I was thinking I needed to extend them further into the day but it's going to be a long day so I think this is a good breaking point.

We're opening with Emily a few hours after we closed with Hotch.

* * *

**Emily Meets a Guy Named Aaron **

Emily's eyes popped open the next morning to the distinctive sound of the garbage truck going by out front. It took only a moment for the entire night to come flying back at her, and she winced as her eyes fell shut again. That's when she first consciously took note that her face was pressed against Hotch's chest and her bare legs were tangled with his pajama clad ones.

Though she remembered him climbing into bed with her after that horrible nightmare, for a moment she was embarrassed. Thinking that she'd done this to him.

Imposed somehow.

That after she fell back to sleep maybe he'd tried to go back to his own bed but she'd sucked onto him like a leach and he couldn't get away.

But then she took note of how he was wrapped around her . . . how he was holding her . . . and her expression softened when she realized that this wasn't her.

This was him.

Oh . . . she felt a wave of emotion rise up . . . he'd stayed with her. Stayed with her so she wouldn't wake up scared and alone again.

As her eyes began to sting her arms tightened around his chest. She was starting to think that Haley had some sort of mental problem. Because if this sweet wonderful man that had been her constant companion since last night was the Aaron behind the Hotch shell, then how could his wife have ever left him?

Yes, she knew that Hotch was cranky and dour and at times utterly humorless. But that was him at work. And their work sucked.

That was his way of dealing with it, cutting himself off and focusing just on the job. But off duty Hotch had always been much softer. And now she was seeing that beyond off duty Hotch there was this man who would ruin his good suit to put together a makeshift carrier for her cat, a man who would hold her tightly and swear to her that he wouldn't leave her, a man who would climb into her bed and hold her close just to help her keep her nightmares at bay.

This was a man that could fall in love with.

The thought came up out of nowhere, but it didn't surprise her as much as she thought it would. After all, some people believed in love at first sight. She wasn't personally one of them, but she hadn't just met Hotch. She'd known him for three years . . . well, sixteen actually if she counted the days when he was working for her mother. But by either count, the point was, it's not like her affection for him hadn't been deepening over the last few years.

And more specifically of course over the last few months.

So whatever these feelings were she was feeling now, they weren't out of the blue. They were simply the flowers blooming on the seeds that had already taken root.

And though she'd still woken up with that same horrible lead weight of grief and fear pressing on her chest, she knew that it would have been so much worse if she'd woken up alone.

Hotch's presence was making things so much easier.

So she decided to take advantage of the early hour . . . it was barely six . . . and snuggle closer. After she looked up to make sure he was still sleeping . . . yes . . . Emily fixed the blankets around her shoulders and moved up to nuzzle his neck. Then she pressed a quick kiss to his throat before she closed her eyes again and sighed.

Being with him now was probably the closest she would come today to finding a little peace. And if he was okay with wrapping his body around her to make her feel safe, then she wasn't going to be shy about taking advantage of this development in their relationship. After all, of the two of them, he was clearly the one with the bigger personal space issues.

Although, given that she'd woken up with them curled together like a pretzel . . . something that she was sure Hotch had precipitated . . . Emily figured that the personal space issue was no longer an issue.

Actually . . . another truck rumbled by out front and she felt him begin to stir . . . once he was awake, that's when she'd know for sure if this was okay. If last night was just an anomaly, or if he was really ready for this to be normal behavior for them.

She felt her bare legs rubbing against the flannel of his pants . . . she'd love for this to be normal behavior.

But if he froze or stiffened up, then she'd know that in the light of day this kind of interaction made him uncomfortable. And though she would understand if that was his reaction . . . even with everything that had happened, this was a lot of change for them so quickly . . . she still prayed that he wouldn't let go.

So with baited breath she waited for him to disentangle from their embrace.

But he didn't.

Instead he rubbed his hand slowly along her back before he asked softly, "how are you feeling today?"

Though he couldn't see her face, Hotch could tell from Emily's breathing that she was already awake. Awake and still wrapped up in his arms.

That was good, that meant that she hadn't panicked about what he'd done. If she'd been uncomfortable or embarrassed she would have pulled away immediately when she woke up. But she didn't.

And that knowledge made those little cold spots in his heart kindle again.

Hotch's voice was so deliciously husky that Emily felt a little surge of desire zip through her body. It wasn't lust really, but it was something that intensified her attraction for him.

But she ignored it . . . it still was too soon for that, cuddling was one thing, sex was something else entirely . . . as she murmured against his throat.

"A little better."

Feeling his hand still on her back, Emily pushed herself up slightly to look at him. There was a pinch of worry on his brow as his left hand fell down to her waist.

"Are you sure?" He rubbed her side, "because I know that you didn't sleep well."

Though he knew of the two of them that he was the one with the greater issues with sharing, Hotch really hoped that she wasn't going to start closing herself off from him now. If she tried to deny that those horrible nightmares hadn't been haunting her all night, well, that was going to be a real problem for their open communication agreement.

Not to mention extremely unhealthy for her mental state.

Realizing that attempting to lie to Hotch now probably wouldn't go over well . . . after all he probably knew better than she how poorly she'd slept last night . . . Emily bit her lip as she looked up at him.

"That's true," she said hesitantly, "I didn't sleep well. But I did get some rest and rest is what I needed."

The knit in Hotch's brow relaxed slightly and she knew that she'd made the right choice in being honest. Because . . . even though she only remembered actually waking up once . . . she knew that wasn't the only bad dream she had.

Lipsky had broken into her home over and over again and each time she tried to fight him off. And each time she failed.

Except . . . a glimmer suddenly flashed in her mind . . . for the last dream. In the last one Hotch was there.

And Hotch had saved her.

A sad smile touched her lips as she whispered, "thank you for getting up with me. And for," she rubbed her hand across his chest, "for this . . . for staying. I think it really did help."

Seeing that Hotch looked slightly embarrassed at her gratitude, Emily moved away from the meaning behind his actions and on to the actions themselves.

She tipped her head slightly to the side as she asked with a sliver of concern, "you're really okay with me being in your space like this?"

Just because he seemed so accepting of her presence didn't mean that it wasn't making him a little bit uncomfortable.

For many people there were different standards of acceptability for nighttime and daytime behavior. And it would be better to just get clarification now on these new boundaries before she got used to them. Because the last thing she wanted was for him to feel weird about her snuggling up to him now and not feeling like he could say something because it would make things awkward.

Pushing aside his discomfort at her praise . . . he didn't deserve thanks for what he did, if anything he deserved condemnation for not attempting to bridge this distance between them before . . . Hotch's expression softened as he reached up to brush his fingers along her cheek.

"Yes," he gently caressed her skin, "I'm very okay with you being in my space."

This was exactly the kind of thing that he'd been thinking about last night. That more than his words, his actions would set the course for the direction of their relationship.

And though yesterday morning he couldn't have imagined waking up in bed like this Emily . . . last night things had changed. Her being threatened and so personally violated by what Lipsky had done, had brought out his protective instincts, crystallizing his feelings for her.

But for her to understand this shift, that meant he had to be a man who wasn't afraid to be open with his affection for her. And since he'd decided to take that step last night and pull her into his arms in the living room, he'd discovered that being physically demonstrative wasn't as hard as he would have thought. Really he just had to tap into Married Hotch.

Better known as Aaron.

Aaron wasn't an FBI agent. He didn't track serial rapists and multiple murderers. Aaron was a husband, somebody's friend . . . somebody's lover.

That's the man he needed to become again . . . but a better version of him. Not the one that Haley divorced, but the one that she married.

Feeling the warmth of Hotch's fingertips stroking her cheek, Emily closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, his fingers stilled, and seeing the look on his face, Emily impulsively leaned up to kiss him again as she had the night before.

But this time when she went to pull away he put his hand on her back as he held her in place for a moment.

It wasn't a passionate kiss . . . but it was a real one.

And when he leaned back a few seconds later her eyes began to sting as she looked up at him.

She wanted to ask him what they were doing, if he too thought that something real was building between them.

If that development was something that would make him happy.

And as much as the little insecure part of her brain wanted to get answers to her questions. Wanted some reassurances about what was happening so that she could face this awful day with one small bit of peace in her heart, Emily thought that forcing a discussion now would be wrong.

That by talking about what was happening between them that she would burst the bubble

So instead . . . when she saw the intensity of his gaze as he looked at her . . . she just gave him a shy smile before she dropped down and curled up in his arms again.

And as he pressed his lips to the top of her head, Emily knew that she'd made the right choice in letting it go.

Despite whatever promise Hotch had made to share with her, she also knew that he would not initiate a discussion like this on his own. If they were ever going to "talk about their feelings" then that was most definitely going to be a conversation that started with her.

And that was a conversation she knew they'd have to have eventually . . . but it held no appeal at the moment.

Right now, with nothing to look forward to today but immersing herself in the mind of this . . . the tears began to pool . . . this terrible, twisted man who was stalking her and had killed her friend, this was more than she could have hoped to get to start the day.

A kiss and a cuddle.

Those weren't the weapons that Hotch usually sent her off to battle with, but she'd definitely take them.

Hotch ran his hand soothingly along Emily's back . . . he was grateful that she'd bit back the question he could see in her eyes. Though he was trying to show her that his feelings for her had changed, he wasn't ready yet for a big talk.

He didn't know what he would say.

Really, he was afraid that he'd stick his foot in his mouth. That somehow he'd imply that he'd only been doing what he was doing because he felt sorry for her and wanted her to feel better. And then she'd get embarrassed . . . possibly angry . . . and he'd fuck everything up.

Bottom line, it was best he kept his mouth shut for now.

But after she'd initiated that second kiss he remembered his promise to keep them even. And that's why he'd held onto her, that's why he'd kissed her back. To show her that what she was feeling . . . he was feeling it too.

Whatever was happening, it was clear to him that it was on both sides. Regardless of what kind of trauma she'd suffered, Hotch didn't see Emily being so affectionate with him unless she had feelings for him too.

So if this shift in their physical interactions could help move them forward . . . and provide some additional comfort to her . . . then he just wanted her to know . . . he was all for it.

And as he heard the weary sigh escape her lips, Hotch tucked her head under his chin before pulling her body even more tightly against his.

This was going to be a shit day. And as much as he wished that he could shield her from what was coming, he knew that she was going to insist on being there for all of it. Of course he wouldn't think of cutting her out of the loop . . . this was her life . . . but he just didn't know if she was ready for all of the crap that was on his to do list.

Another conversation with Durant, another conversation with Kelly's chief . . . that was going to be awful . . . and then a piece by piece reconstruction of her life over the past few months to see if they could compile any more evidence to connect Lipsky to the break-in and murder.

Yes, there was no doubt it was him, but there was no such thing as too much evidence. Things got tossed out, defense attorneys twisted theories and circumstances for their client's gain. Somebody somewhere down the line was sure to pose the theory that Emily had led Lipsky on, that they'd been involved, that she'd given him a key and that the photographs taken in her bedroom had been taken with her permission.

That even if they allowed that Lipsky had killed Kelly, that it was simply a crime of passion . . . manslaughter. Not a vicious premeditated act from a deeply disturbed mind.

As much as it pissed Hotch off to even have to entertain such bullshit, he knew it was coming. So the more they could find in Emily's recent past to show the pattern in Lipsky's obsessive behavior, the better it would be for both Emily personally and the case in general.

Pouring through her personal life though, that was going to be unpleasant. Hence the reason for his promise to share with her as much as she was going to have to share with him.

God only knows what secrets he'd have spilled to her by the time this was all said and done.

Beyond that though, as far as immediate problems went, they also had to tell the team what happened and then find a way to keep them from tossing their careers aside in an effort to help Emily.

It was enough that he'd be risking his own future at the Bureau, he had to keep them out of the case or Strauss would have their heads.

Strauss.

Shit . . . he winced . . . they had to tell Strauss. Of course he knew that, but apparently he'd been blocking that one from his brain. Really, he should have called her last night. Kelly Hsu wasn't one of her reports but there's no way that her murder wasn't going to come up at today's senior staff meeting.

Her murder and it's connection to Supervisory Special Agent Emily Victoria Prentiss. Somebody who was most definitely was one of Strauss' reports.

Again . . . his jaw twitched . . . he really should have called her last night.

If memory served though the senior staff meeting didn't start until ten and as he looked at the clock he saw it was only a little after six. But he definitely needed to make a phone call before she got blindsided and looked like an idiot in front of the Director.

Yeah, that would be bad.

After running down the to do list in his head, all Hotch could think of for mundane activities that day was the grocery shopping.

Maybe he'd drag JJ and Derek along for backup. Then he rolled his eyes . . . back up for grocery shopping. What a fucking life.

His eyes shifted over to the alarm clock again as he debated whether they should just get up and start dealing with all of this crap, or if they should try to get a little more sleep.

And then Emily murmured sadly, "I have to call Kelly's parents. I have to tell them what happened."

"No," he kissed the top of her head, "no, Durant would have taken care of that last night. And I'm sure SSA Willis has been in touch with them too."

Next of kin notification was most definitely NOT on his to do list. And it was not something he wished to add to it now.

"Yeah, but," Emily wiped away the tear leaking down her cheek, "she was my friend. I know them. I used to go sailing with Kelly and her dad. I owe them a phone call." Suddenly her voice broke, "her poor father. He adored her!"

Shit . . . she started frantically wiping her face . . . she did not want to start crying again before she was even out of bed!

Feeling the warm tears running on his neck, Hotch felt the ache in his gut come back again. So in an effort to comfort her, he rolled onto his back, pulling Emily onto his chest and fixing the blankets up around them again.

In her new position Emily was now even more aware of how little she was wearing. But she couldn't really make herself care about such things at the moment. She just rested her head on Hotch's shoulder as she sniffled and tried to stop crying.

Hotch ran his fingers through Emily's hair as he listened to her try to bottle up her grief again. Though he could tell from her level of agitation that she was angry that she'd started crying, he actually thought it was better that she got some of it out now. They had a long day and no doubt something was going to trigger thoughts of Kelly that would cause her sadness to spill over.

Better that happened with them here alone than in the middle of the bullpen.

Finally she appeared to have that thought as well, as she seemed to give herself over to her grief as the quiet sobbing of the night before came back again.

And as they lay there, Emily's steady tears leaking onto his t-shirt, Hotch ran his fingers through her hair. His jaw was twitching as he stared up at the ceiling. He was making a mental list of the dozens of ways he knew of to kill a man and wondering which one would make Lipsky scream the most.

It was unlikely he'd get the opportunity to try any of them out, but it was enough to bolster Hotch's focus for the day. And when he felt Emily press a kiss to his throat, he knew that their day was about to begin.

"You ready to get up?" He asked softly.

"Yeah," she cleared her throat, "yeah I am," then she whispered, "I want him dead Hotch."

If anyone would help her with such a task she knew it was the man lying beneath her.

"I know," he turned his head to kiss her forehead as he said again softly, "me too. But don't you worry about that right now."

Given the suffering Lipsky had put Emily through with her friend's murder and those horrendous rape scenarios that kept running through her head, Hotch was no longer so inclined to let the police handle this on their own. But he also knew that if attempted his own investigation that his attention would be divided between chasing Lipsky and protecting Emily.

And that seemed a dangerous distraction.

So he reluctantly pushed aside thoughts of vengeance for now. He'd give them a chance to do their jobs, but they had a clock ticking. If Lipsky was still in the wind a week from now Hotch was reassessing his approach.

Because he knew that he'd be coming for Emily again.

If not for the potential for additional trauma for her, Hotch would almost welcome the attempt. Because he was serious last night when he said Lipsky was going out with a bullet in the forehead. But that would assume he was close enough to see. And if he was close enough to see then the cops hadn't done their job.

At that thought Hotch shifted his eyes down to look at Emily.

"Would you mind if I slept with you again tonight?"

It was unlikely the nightmares would leave her in only a day. And if they were a foregone conclusion and it had already been established that his presence at least calmed her, then he'd rather stay with her. But most importantly he didn't want her to have to ask him to stay. It would make her feel weak, one more blow to her self confidence that had already taken too many hits in the past twelve hours.

This way, it was a favor she was granting to him.

Emily's eyes began to burn as she looked up at Hotch, and again she wondered if you could fall in love in one night. Then she gave him a watery smile, "yes, if you'd like you can sleep with me again."

His eyes crinkled slightly, "thanks," he patted her back, "now are we getting up, or do you want to try to get some more sleep?"

His gaze shifted to the alarm, "because even budgeting for two showers and you doing whatever you have to do we still don't technically have to get up for another forty minutes."

Despite the day . . . and her still watery eyes . . . Emily again couldn't stop the twitch of her lips at Hotch's words. God only knew what he thought she was going to need to do in the bathroom.

She huffed slightly as she slipped her other arm up and around his neck, "if you let me shower first," she murmured against his skin, "I can get out of your way. Then I can dry my hair in here and go back in to put my makeup on after you're done."

Her needs were pretty basic, but she was about six years past the point where she could leave the house without any makeup on at all.

"Okay," he agreed, "that should work."

Haley had never worked so the two of them had never been on the same shower schedule in the morning. Emily's suggestion should work out well though. It was obvious from her nightmares that her apartment was not going to be a place she'd feel comfortable sleeping for quite some time. So if this arrangement was going to last more than a few days it would be nice if they could figure out a routine that worked for them early on.

Aside from the dorms in college, he'd only ever lived with his family growing up, and then Haley and Jack. So just getting used to sharing a bathroom with somebody he didn't have carte blanche to barge in on when they were in the shower was going to be an adjustment.

Emily's gaze shifted over to the clock again as she saw the last two numbers flips from eighteen to nineteen. And remembering that she had to answer Hotch's question about whether she was ready to start the day, she made her decision.

Her fingers curled around his neck as she whispered, "let's split the difference and get up in twenty minutes."

Once she left this little cocoon Hotch had her wrapped up in, life was going to suck hard. Twenty minutes wasn't enough time to get any sleep, but it was at least enough time to solidify these feelings of warmth and comfort she had at the moment.

Hotch nodded as he murmured back, "okay, twenty more minutes."

Then he pressed his lips to her ear, "do you want to talk about anything?"

Knowing her aversion to another breakdown, he doubted it. But still, he wanted her to know that he was there if she wanted to discuss Kelly or Lipsky or anything else.

"No," she shook her head slightly, "no, I just want to forget about my life for a little while." Then she rubbed her hand along his chest, "would you tell me about Jack?"

She'd met his son a couple times and thought he was an incredibly sweet little boy. But she didn't really know much about him.

Hotch's eyes widened slightly in surprise, "uh, sure. What do you want to know?"

That was not what he was expecting her to say.

Emily's gaze shifted to look at the happy yellow sponge on the sheets.

"Is SpongeBob his favorite cartoon?"

At her question, Hotch's lips twitched, "no, his favorite is actually Batman but Haley thinks it's too dark for him so he can only watch it at my house. He really does like SpongeBob though," his lip quirked up, "Patrick's his favorite."

Then . . . realizing that Emily might not know who Patrick was . . . Hotch clarified, "he's a large pink starfish, not very bright. And," his brow wrinkled as he thought back, "he apparently is independently wealthy because he's the only creature in Bikini Bottom that doesn't appear to be gainfully employed."

Okay . . . his face started to get warm . . . that was perhaps the most ridiculous sentence he'd ever uttered to another adult. But then he heard Emily giggle and his embarrassment faded.

This was helping her.

Emily kissed his jaw, "thank you for that excellent visual," then she cuddled in closer as she closed her eyes, "tell me something else."

Feeling Emily's fingers rubbing the tension from his neck, Hotch sighed, "um, what else . . . he likes fire trucks and bulldozers and he wants a puppy but Haley's allergic and I'm not home enough for a dog so I'm not quite sure what to do about that."

Just as he started to think maybe he'd said too much . . . these obviously weren't things he was used to discussing with anyone . . . he heard Emily whisper.

"Does he like cats?"

Hotch answered slowly, "uh yeah . . . yeah, he does like cats, but Haley's allergic to them too."

Emily's lip quirked up slightly before she said quietly, "good," then she realized what she'd said and clarified, "I mean not good that she's allergic, just that's nice that Jack likes cats."

At the moment she was pretty sure she knew what it felt like to walk out on a lake with a big sign next to it labeled, "THIN ICE." But she just couldn't help herself. Though she didn't want to flat out ask Hotch what the hell was happening, as soon as he started talking about his son, and hearing the happiness in his voice, she couldn't stop wondering about the future.

If she'd ever be a part of Jack's life.

Which was why . . . given that she had a traumatized cat hiding under the bed . . . Emily was curious if Jack's affection for animals extended to felines as well as canines. And it made her happy to know that it did.

Though she didn't want Hotch to know that the question held any true significance, so she quickly moved back to his prior statement.

"So it sounds like puppies and kittens are out for now," she bit her lip, "what about a hamster? I've never personally had one but they don't seem too messy and I've never heard about anyone being allergic."

"Uh," Hotch stumbled a bit with Emily jumping around but then he got back on point, "no, that's out too. Haley doesn't like rodents."

Though Hotch wasn't 100% sure hamsters were technically rodentia, they had been categorized as such by his ex-wife.

Emily pouted, "oh, well that's too bad. And aside from a bunny rabbit, that's about it for domesticated mammals you can keep as house pets," she patted Hotch's chest as she said sympathetically, "it sounds like you do have a little problem there."

It wasn't until she said it that Emily realized that for just a minute she'd actually forgotten about Lipsky. She'd wrapped herself up in a little boy's problems . . . finding a way for his daddy to buy him a puppy . . . and put all of her own out of her head.

The respite was nice while it lasted but as the crushing awareness of her own shit world came roaring back to her she literally winced in pain.

Apparently there were other ways for the bubble to burst.

"Hotch," she whispered.

"Yeah."

Her voice cracked, "I think it's time to get up now."

Hotch's gaze shifted down to see her eyes were glassy with unshed tears. And her brow was once again pinched with the strain of the day. His own brow furrowed in worry and disappointment.

He didn't want her starting her day already broken and defeated. That was going to make everything so much harder for her.

It only took him a second to think of something to do to reset the course.

So keeping Emily close to his chest, he rolled over again. And when he saw her looking up at him in surprise he leaned down to press his lips to hers once more, this time going well beyond the few seconds of the prior kiss. And when he heard Emily moan against his mouth as she arched up against him, he knew that he'd successfully driven the demons away for a few more minutes.

Only then did he pull back to see Emily blinking at him in astonishment.

"Wow," she panted.

This man seriously knew how to kiss!

Hotch gave her a soft smile right before he pressed his lips to her ear. And then he whispered.

"Now it's time to get up."

* * *

_A/N 2: As I said in the last one, I saw no reason for them to be creating artificial obstacles here, that them attached at the hip onscreen season 4 was the beginning of what we're seeing here. And I could have had Hotch pull back a bit in the light of day but I think it was clear in the last one that his decisions were resolute. He wants to have a life again. And as long as he's not forced to have a Deep Thoughts discussion about what they're doing or where things are going, then he's doing okay kicking the little rock down the street._

_I toyed with the idea of Emily having some discomfort once she realized she was wrapped up with him just wearing the t-shirt. Then I decided that they were adults and she wouldn't be that freaked. If he was still JUST her boss, or a coworker then yes, that would be embarrassing to be wrapped up half naked. But with a shifting romantic thread it seemed like she'd be more of the 'oh well, whatever' attitude._

_Daisy will be returning in the next chapter :) I was trying to recall how my cat behaves when I've been away and usually he's happy to see me initially (meows up a storm actually) and then he kind of goes off and hides and then the next day he's a little leach attached to my lap. So after everything that happened I didn't see lap cat Daisy coming back again right away. Especially given that she was driven out of the bedroom for Emily's nightmares which would have scared her off again. I'm planning on at least getting them out of the house next chapter, hopefully maybe to grocery shopping. We'll see how the ball bounces. These first couple days will cover things in a bit more minutia, then we'll start rolling over periods of time. Because given the shifts in their relationship, I have decided to take this story through to the end of season 4, which means through the pig farm and Foyette's return. But of course with some modifications ;)_

_I've worked through most of my Fracture reviews, if I haven't gotten back to you yet, I'll send a thanks now and hopefully I'll be able to send you a note tomorrow._

_The last Communication Breakdown tomorrow or Tuesday._


	7. Dominoes Falling

**Author's Note**: Finally, it's up. If you didn't read my new story yesterday, I've had migraines so this didn't get cleaned up as fast as I expected it would.

**Prompt Announcement**: Kavi and I put up the new forum for prompts related to story titles. The rules are the same as the TV Prompt one, you just use the story titles as inspiration. You can link over to the forum from my profile (at the top of the page.)

We're picking up about ten minutes after we left them in bed.

* * *

**Prompt Set #14**

**Show**: 30 Rock

**Title:** Retreat to Move Forward

* * *

**Dominoes Falling**

"No ma'am . . . yes, ma'am . . . right . . . no . . . yes . . ."

Hotch hit the on button for the coffee maker before he leaned back against the counter, continuing to listen to Strauss.

"I'll let you know as soon as I hear anything further . . . uh, huh. All right," he pinched his nose, "update at 9:30 regardless of whether there's any news. Bye."

And he hung up as he blew out a puff of air.

Okay, that hadn't gone quite as badly as he'd feared it might. And that was because he'd actually woken Strauss up so there was NO chance that she'd heard anything from anyone before it came directly from him. She hadn't even made a comment about not calling her the night before.

And really, the more he thought about it, the less he'd felt that was an issue either. There wasn't a damn thing that she could have done last night because it simply _wasn't_ a Bureau matter. It wasn't a terrorist act or something connected to a case. This was just a horrible criminal situation that had dragged (so far) three _employees_ of the Bureau into its web.

But . . . Hotch scrubbed his hand down his face as he yawned . . . it still wasn't their web to untangle. It was a local matter and hopefully the locals would resolve it soon.

Hotch stood there for a second listening to the coffee trickling into the pot as he took stock of the day. It was still barely 6:50. Emily was taking her shower, he'd started the coffee and given Strauss her update so she wouldn't get blindsided at the senior staff meeting.

So essentially . . . he headed into the living room to open the blinds . . . he had crossed off three of the _fifty-six_ or so items on his To Do list.

So yeah . . . he rolled his eyes . . . the rest of the day should fly by.

Just as Hotch reached up to turn the blinds his hand froze . . . and then he pulled it back down.

No, until Lipsky was caught they were living like vampires. Shades down, blinds drawn, curtains closed.

Not only did Hotch not relish the idea of being on any of Lipsky's future displays of wall art, but after the blows that Emily had suffered the night before, Hotch also wanted this one place to not just be safe, but also completely private.

And with the blinds drawn there was no chance that anyone could spy on them in here.

He knew that at work she was going to be under scrutiny. Her friendship with Kelly wasn't exactly a secret within the glass walls of the BAU. Kelly had been in an out of the Unit to pick up Emily for coffee and lunch for the better part of the last two years.

So as soon as the news of her murder spread . . . and it would spread quickly, Hotch had already checked the headlines on the Post and it was right on the top of the page . . . Emily was going to be inundated with sympathetic stares and whispers behind her back.

His gaze unconsciously shifted towards the hall where Emily was showering . . . and that much attention was going to make her very uncomfortable.

Actually . . . a thought occurred to him as he stepped over to pick up Daisy's water bowl . . . maybe he'd keep both Daisy _and_ Emily in his office today.

It would keep Emily from getting all the unwanted attention in the bullpen, and it would keep him from getting repetitive motion disorder twisting his neck every five minutes checking to make sure that she was all right.

Okay . . . he started filling Daisy's bowl with fresh water . . . good. For today his new home roommates would be his new work roommates as well.

When Hotch leaned down back to put the clean water back on the floor, he realized that Daisy was hiding under the kitchen table watching him. It was the first sighting since she'd fled from Emily's room at three am.

So in an effort not to startle her away, Hotch slowly stooped down to her level and extended his hand. Then he wiggled his fingers slightly until Daisy cautiously stepped out to come over and sniff them.

Once he was again identified as a safe person . . . prior to last night they had met a few times at Emily's when Hotch was over for dinner . . . she bumped her head against his leg and he started scratching behind her ears.

Okay . . . he sighed as she began to purr . . . well, at least one of the Prentiss females was feeling good today.

After a few seconds of ear scratching he picked the cat up off the floor, holding her to his chest with one hand as he went over to pour his coffee with the other.

If he was going to be keeping Daisy in his office he wanted to make sure that they had a little bit of bonding before they left the house. He knew that she needed some stability to feel safe so he felt guilty about dragging her out of the house again so soon.

But really, they just couldn't risk leaving her alone. So, knowing going into this day that she was going get agitated when they walked out the door, it would be nice if his presence could at least offer her as much comfort as Emily's did.

Well . . . he tipped his head slightly as they sat down at the table . . . she wouldn't be AS comforted with him as Emily. But he wanted to make sure that at least she wasn't nervous around him.

So they sat together at the table, Hotch reading the headlines on his laptop, drinking his coffee while Daisy purred on his shoulder and the two of them waited for Emily to get out of the shower.

Finally he heard the bathroom door open and Hotch closed his computer and pushed it aside . . . he'd been reading the full Post story about the murder.

A minute later Emily appeared in the doorway rubbing her wet hair with a towel while still wearing the t-shirt that she'd worn to bed.

That's when Hotch realized that he should have given her his robe before she went into the bathroom. Oh well . . . his gaze slowly traveled up those lusciously long legs . . . he was starting to grow very fond of this particular t-shirt.

Emily's lip quirked up when she saw Hotch and Daisy sitting at the table together . . . that was not expected.

After she'd put the towel on the counter she walked over and put one hand on Hotch's shoulder and the other on Daisy's head.

"Are you being a good girl Daisy?" She murmured softly as she petted the soft orange fur.

Emily was just so glad to see her out from under wherever it was that she'd been hiding. And she was also relieved to see that she and Hotch had taken to each other so well. They'd only had passing encounters at her home over the past few months. And a lot of men preferred dogs to cats so it would have been awkward for Emily staying with him, worrying that Hotch was bothered by having a pet in his house that he didn't like simply for its species.

But seeing them like this was more than she could have hoped for, and one less thing to worry about.

As was starting to become habit . . . one he needed to not fall into at the office . . . Hotch's free hand fell to Emily's hip as he nodded, "she is being good, and I told her about the trip to the office."

Emily huffed slightly as her gaze shifted from the cat to the man, "and what did she say to that?"

"She said that she'd prefer it if you were close by today," he tipped is head as he said softly, "so I told her that both of you could stay with me upstairs."

He didn't want to go into all the reasons he thought it would best for Emily to get out of the bullpen. It would just give her more things to worry about. So he'd decided that veiling it in addressing Daisy's psychological well being would hopefully be enough to get Emily to agree to stay upstairs without making it a real conversation.

Emily's mouth twitched slightly as she looked down at Hotch, "I had no idea you were so conversant in feline."

It was clear that he was worried and wanted her to stay where he could see her.

His eyebrow went up, "did you think you were the only one on the team who was bilingual?"

Seeing the look Emily was giving him, Hotch turned slightly in his chair before he tugged her down to sit in his lap. Then he slipped his arm around her waist as he tried a different approach.

"Wouldn't you agree that it would be best for Daisy that you didn't leave her alone with me today? After all," he added drolly, "I've been told that my demeanor can be a bit intimidating at times."

He had been hoping that she would just go along but it was clear that she didn't think it was a good idea. Now he was trying for gentle cajoling.

Taking in rumpled morning Hotch with the cat purring on his shoulder, Emily shook her head as she responded flatly, "yeah, right now you're downright terrifying."

Seeing his lip quirk up slightly she leaned over to kiss him. And when she pulled back her fingers stroked along his cheek as she said seriously, "I know that you're worried and I appreciate your concern," she gave him a sad smile, "it's very sweet. But we both know that the BAU is totally secure and I'll be completely safe at my desk."

Seeing him about to raise a counterargument she put her finger to his lips, "uh, uh, I'm going to be spending half the day with you dealing with this nightmare, and I'm sure that I'll be totally fine the other half sitting without you in the bullpen."

She couldn't deny how touched she was that he was this concerned about her, but really, she couldn't work in his office all day. So much had happened in the last twelve hours, so much of it horrible, but this little bit with him . . . that was wonderful.

And if she was going to get through all of this without losing her mind, or tipping these delicate scales in their power distribution, then they needed to retain some sense of normality in their interactions. So if it came down to their new off duty sleeping . . . and now sitting . . . arrangements, or simply hanging out in his office working on her laptop, then she was going to pick sleeping and sitting arrangements every day of the week and twice on Sunday.

Hearing the resolution in her decision, Hotch's expression softened as he looked at her, "Emily, it's not your safety I'm concerned about. I agree, the bullpen is an impenetrable area . . . at least it will be after I have Garcia recode the door sensors for Unit employees only. But," he rubbed her side as he said softly, "it's going to be hard for you to sit out there. People are going to know what happened, they're going to be whispering about it and staring at you. It's just human nature, and unfortunately I can't ORDER them not to be concerned or curious about what happened. And your emotions are already so close to the surface, are you comfortable with sharing them with the office at large? Are you ready for that?"

Of course he understood her desire to keep her independence from him. He wasn't trying to take that away from her . . . he would NEVER try to take that away from her. Her strength is what had drawn him to her from the beginning.

She was his rock.

He just wanted to make sure that she didn't make this day more upsetting for herself by inadvertently creating a situation that just added to her stress. She was so private, so quick to deflect any true inquiries into how she felt with a smile or a joke. But he knew that she wasn't up to those deflections today. She was grieving, stressed and still running on very little sleep.

This was going to be an emotional day and if anyone else saw her crying or getting upset, that was really going to bother her.

Emily's eyes dropped down . . . she'd thought about those things in the shower. And yes, if she started to lose it in the bullpen that was going to suck. But at present everything sucked.

Okay . . . she felt Hotch's arm wrapped around waist . . . perhaps not everything. But still, her life overall was one big shitstorm right now, and putting up with some stares and whispers was the least of the issues hanging over her head.

Besides, she knew there wouldn't be malicious gossip. These people were her friends, colleagues. She really didn't have any enemies within the Unit. Hotch didn't tolerate strife or any egotistical or sexist personalities.

If he didn't like you, then you didn't work there. It was as simple as that.

So she was pretty sure that she could tolerate some unwanted . . . well intentioned . . . sympathy.

Knowing from the set of her jaw that she was resolute in her decision, Hotch tipped his head, "okay," he said softly, "if that's what you want."

A sad smile touched Emily's lips as she leaned her forehead against his, "it's not what I want, it's what I have to do."

"Right," Hotch winced slightly as he pulled her closer, causing Daisy to jump down to the floor, "I'm sorry. I hope you don't think I was trying to coddle you. I really wasn't, I just . . ." he paused as his gaze dropped down, then he steeled his courage and brought it back up again, "I didn't . . . I didn't help you before the way I should have. And I just don't want to make the same mistakes this time. I want to do it right."

She shouldn't always have to go first with these disclosures. He knew that he should try to volunteer before she thought that he was only sharing with her because he felt pressured to do so. And his guilt over how poorly he'd handled that whole situation with Matthew's death had been weighing on him for all these weeks.

And if he wanted this to work, if he wanted her to trust him, then he needed to be honest about where he was coming from.

For a moment Emily looked at him in confusion . . . before. What was he . . . and then suddenly she knew.

Matthew.

He was remembering how everything went to shit at the end. And seeing the remorse and guilt on his face she wanted to tell him that it was all right, that she had never blamed him. That she'd known that he'd done the best that he could for her.

But to say that would not be entirely true.

Because she couldn't deny that she had been angry with him . . . very angry. After the funeral though . . . . Rossi had sat with her in the back . . . she'd come to see that her anger and resentment of Hotch had been unfair. He hadn't created the situation. It wasn't Hotch that had been the problem.

It had been her expectations of him.

They'd been getting closer, he'd been over for dinner, he'd partnered them up all the time and she started to believe that she was special. That things had changed so much between them, that the rules that he enforced so carefully . . . so _diligently_ . . . that he'd just throw them all away for her.

And when he couldn't do that . . . when he wouldn't let her do what she wanted to do . . . that's when she'd gotten angry with him. Of course a few days later she'd seen that she hadn't been behaving rationally. He'd been right to rein her in.

Then the morning she came back from her leave she found a coffee on her desk and him watching her worriedly from his doorway. She'd seen then that all along he'd been doing as much as he could for her.

That really . . . if he'd followed the rules as he usually did . . . he never would have let her get within a mile of Matthew's murder.

And that's when she'd truly forgiven him for doing absolutely nothing wrong. Because in the end, he'd risked his whole career for her. When the wrath had come down from on high he'd taken the hit for the whole team.

One more page in his file.

And she'd been so wrapped up in her grief that she'd never acknowledged what he'd done for her.

Never thanked him for letting her be special.

Hotch watched Emily nervously, waiting to hear what her reaction was to what he'd said. It's not that he'd wanted to bring up more unpleasant memories, but it's not like he really thought he could bring her any further down than she already was. Or maybe . . . he saw her give him a funny look . . . maybe he could.

And for a second he started to feel terribly guilty that he'd somehow made this day worse.

But then to his surprise . . . Emily wrapped her arms around his neck . . . and kissed him. Kissed him as passionately as he'd kissed her in the bedroom.

Except that she didn't stop . . . and neither did he.

And then . . . without breaking contact . . . she shifted around, hooking her other leg over his thigh as she straddled his waist. And God help him, but he couldn't stop himself from pulling her closer, pressing her body against his as he pushed her t-shirt up. It was bunched above the waist and he had one hand on her ass and the other hand . . . he knew that one was about to get him into trouble.

His fingers were slowly sliding inside the elastic waist of her newly purchased black cotton underwear.

As he sucked on her tongue Emily started to moan and Hotch began to consider that small piece of black cotton the only real barrier between him and starting the day with a quickie.

A morning quickie was an activity that he hadn't been able to engage in since WELL before the divorce. Actually possibly before Jack was born.

It was an activity that he had missed.

As soon as he realized that those fingers were starting to slide the elastic down over her hip, a little part of his brain . . . probably the only part still getting funneled a full supply of blood and oxygen . . . pointed out that they were about to engage in activities that he'd already ruled out. And if they did them now, they were going to necessitate having a conversation afterwards about what was happening.

And that fear . . . of actually being forced to fully spill his guts to her before he was ready . . . was the only thing that allowed him to slide his hand back as he broke off the kiss with a gasp.

Their eyes locked, both of them wild eyed and panting as they tried their catch their breath.

Feeling the bulge pressing against her, Emily's chest was still heaving as she tried to explain, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to um . . . that is, uh," she took another breath, "that was just supposed to be a kiss to thank you for everything you did for me with Matthew. I didn't mean for it to uh . . ."

And she trailed off. Then she looked away in embarrassment.

Great . . . she ground her jaw . . . now she's just given him a hard on at seven in the morning. And their relationship was not yet to the point that she could do anything to help him resolve that issue.

Not that he was the only one that was completely worked up. That warmth pooling deep in her belly had not gone away yet. Not to mention her nipples were chafing and still clearly outlined beneath the navy cotton. And there's nothing that she would have loved more in that moment than to rip off Hotch's clothes and do it right there on the kitchen chair.

Which was why . . . she started to feel her eyes sting for the first time since she got out of the shower . . . she'd let things go too far. Kissing Hotch like that was . . . amazing.

It wiped all of the sadness and grief and fear from her mind.

There was nothing in the world but him. Him and all of these wonderful things that he made her feel. And she'd just wanted those sensations to go on for a little longer.

And then she'd kind of lost control.

Seeing the sheen in Emily's eyes, Hotch's sexual frustration started to fade as his expression softened . . . great, something new for her to feel badly about.

He shifted her slightly in his lap so she was back on his thigh and their lower bodies were no longer pressed together. And then he pulled her to his chest and wrapped her up tightly in his arms.

After a moment he felt the tension start to leave her body. Then she slipped her arms around him as she rested her head on his shoulder.

"Don't be embarrassed," he whispered as he turned to kiss her temple, "it was my fault too."

He should have stopped it before it had gone as far as it had.

Emily's eyes started to water as she murmured back, "you're a really good guy, you know that?"

Most men would have thought that she was being a tease getting him so worked up knowing that nothing could come of it.

But not him.

SHE initiates and HE apologizes. And that actually made her want him even more. She knew that unless they were going to start having a lot of awkward pauses, that they needed to resolve this situation in the short term. Resolve was the wrong word though.

Resolve . . . she snuggled closer . . . that made it sound like something unpleasant. When in actuality, what was happening between them was the ONLY good thing in her whole crappy life right now.

Maybe . . . she moved over to kiss his neck . . . by next weekend they could finish what they'd almost started. After a few more days had passed, she'd start to adjust to the terrible shift in her understanding of her world. And then she'd be able to say with confidence that she just wanted him for him with nothing else mucking it up.

The muck was clearly affecting her actions right now. As evidenced by the fact that barely six minutes ago she'd leaned it to give Hotch a simple thank you kiss and had ended up straddling him on a kitchen chair as she gave him the mother of all lap dances.

So obviously it really it wasn't the right time to take any major commitment steps that couldn't be untaken.

Hotch closed his eyes as he slowly rubbed his hand down Emily's back. Holding her was fast becoming his favorite activity, and that was even though they had been on the verge of engaging in his all time favorite activity. Fortunately though, his emotional concern for her was helping to distract him from his body's physical reaction to her. Things had begun to settle down.

But Jesus . . . he winced . . . they were only seconds away from having sex on a kitchen chair! And that would have been a COLLOSALLY stupid move on his part!

He'd known last night that it was too soon for sex and yet still he'd let things get out of hand. Not only was he not mentally yet to the place where he could have the full, 'I want you, rules be damned,' relationship conversation, but she'd suffered too much emotional trauma in the past twenty-four hours to make a rational decision about what she wanted or needed.

So _he _needed to not let his baser instincts assert control of his behavior again.

Even though he had no intention of removing this physical affection from their new parameters . . . he was going to have to make a _conscious_ effort to not let things get out of control for the foreseeable future.

Not until they'd reached the point where she wasn't walking around half on the verge of tears, and he wasn't walking around half on the verge of jumping out the window to avoid having an honest to God, all cards on the table, discussion about his feelings for her.

Just then Hotch felt a soft kiss on his throat and he felt a wave of regret wash over him. Regret for all of the decisions that he'd just had to make. All of the things that he wasn't ready to say, and she wasn't ready to hear.

God . . . he placed a kiss on her temple . . . why couldn't any of this be easy?

Knowing that the clock had begun ticking again, he patted her back as he said quietly, "I made coffee, there's half & half in the fridge and Splenda in the cabinet next to the stove. Help yourself to whatever you see," he squeezed her for a moment before he breathed against her neck, "my house is your house."

For now at least. And perhaps down the road . . . he bit his lip . . . no, it wasn't the time to torture himself with those possible futures. There was a enough heartache to go around without adding that to the mix. For now he would just focus on keeping them both alive long enough to start working on the rest of it.

That was enough for today.

As she heard Hotch's words and felt his warm breath against her skin, Emily felt the tears hovering again. There was no doubt. Regardless of all the muck, she definitely wanted him just for him.

And as they rose up and he looked down at her, she realized that she'd wanted him since long before last night. She'd just been pushing those desires away. Last night had simply provided a catalyst for those desires to come to the surface.

Knowing that she'd been developing feelings for him . . . which she had known for awhile . . . was separate from these physical urges which were now coloring her behavior. Her feelings for him had strengthened their relationship, deepened both their professional relationship and their personal friendship. But if she'd allowed herself to imagine him in her bed, that would have created an artificial tension to their interactions. And that would have been a terrible detriment to what was otherwise slowly shaping up to be the most important relationship in her life.

But now . . . she leaned up on her tip toes to press a quick kiss to his lips . . . now it was all one big package. One she was fast starting to see from the look in his eyes could perhaps be hers if she wanted it to be.

And feeling the hard muscles of his body as he pulled her into a gentle embrace, how could she not want it? How could she not want _him_?

Somebody who was kind and strong and made her feel safe and cared for.

Even if it was too soon to act on these physical impulses, she could at least cherish the fact that with this terrible nightmare going on around them, that she actually had someone again. Not just a friend or a colleague . . . but a man who was clearly hers alone. It had been so long since she could say that.

And that realization would have to be enough for today.

When Emily stepped back to let him go shower, Hotch squeezed her fingers and she looked up. That's when she could see the worry in his eyes. And she knew that was his fear that by letting things go too far that now they'd set themselves back again.

They hadn't.

No matter what else happened at work, or with Lipsky or anything else, she was going to make damn sure that she didn't fuck this up. So to reassure him of that she pulled out the brightest smile she could manage right before she said firmly, "you made coffee so I'll make us breakfast."

"No Emily you don't . . ."

He tried to protest but she shushed him. "I'm not very hungry either but we have a long day Hotch. And I think we need to ingest something more than caffeine."

Since last night she'd been a passive participant in what was happening to her. Really Hotch had been making most of the decisions while she'd just been reacting to everything around her.

It was time that she started take some control back. Not that Hotch had been controlling, he'd been taking care of her . . . and that wasn't the same thing at all as being controlling. But it was time for her to start taking care of herself again.

And him too for that matter.

Both of them were bad about eating properly. So often it was two skipped meals, a half a pot of coffee each, and then some kind of greasy take out at the end of the day. That's part of the reason she'd started inviting him over to eat dinner with her.

Okay . . . she felt his warm hands holding her cold fingers . . . that wasn't really the reason. But it was a secondary reason. Looking back she could see it was subconsciously a first step in trying to shift the parameters of their relationship.

She'd been adding a degree of domesticity to their routine.

Hotch looked at her and then nodded slowly, "right, you're right it is going to be a long day," then he gave her a look, "but don't go to too much trouble okay."

Fortunately he didn't have too much in the cupboards so she couldn't really go to too much trouble even if she wanted to.

"I won't," she gave him a sad smile, "it's just given what's coming I know I won't have any appetite at all later so I just want to eat enough now to keep my energy up."

Hotch said nothing in response to that . . . there was nothing to say. He just kissed her forehead before reluctantly letting go of her hands and leaving to go take his shower.

Emily waited for a moment until she heard the bathroom door click shut, then she turned and went into the kitchen, trying to decide what would sit best in her anxiety ridden stomach.

_Maybe French toast._

/

"Do I look all right?"

Emily was standing in the living room eyeing her day old outfit warily. Granted she didn't generally send a suit directly to the cleaners after one outing, but she wasn't accustomed to wearing the EXACT same clothes two days in a row.

Hotch was just sliding his Glock into his holster when Emily asked her question, and he looked up to see her nervously brushing her hand over the front of her suit.

His brow wrinkled slightly as he gave her a little smile, "of course."

He understood that she was nervous, but she was wearing her standard black suit and one of the new shirts she'd bought last night. She looked just as professional as she always did.

Though as he snuck another look at her he took note that the shade of blue she was wearing was exceptionally flattering. She looked really pretty.

And as that thought came to him, he suddenly remembered the last thing that he didn't say to Kelly. So he ended up blurting the words out to Emily while they were fresh in his head.

"You look really pretty in blue."

Hearing the nervousness behind Hotch's words, Emily felt a spot of warmth in her chest begin to glow . . . she was definitely falling down the rabbit hole. She reached over to squeeze his fingers as she said softly, "thank you."

Hotch looked at her for a moment before he brushed her hair back behind her ears.

"I like your bangs too."

That was something that he'd wanted to tell her for months. That he liked her new haircut. But she'd gotten it cut before they'd even started occasionally having dinner together. And back then he'd been afraid that if he had commented on her appearance that it would been so out of character that she'd have thought it strange.

And then he'd lost his window to say anything.

It was liberating though, telling her these things now. Not being worried about appearances or propriety. Even though by most people's standards these were minor social exchanges, for him it really was a completely different approach to his interactions with her. He had of course uttered more than his share of platitudes in social interactions over the past forty plus years, but the only person he could recall ever being spontaneously open with was Haley.

Now he was trying to be that way with Emily.

Emily slipped her arms around Hotch's waist, "thank you," she said softly as she tucked her head under his chin. And then she sighed against his chest.

This was it, the last time they'd be able to do this all day. In a minute they were going to walk out the door and the kaleidoscope would shift back to the other version of their lives.

The on duty, professionally distant, somebody was trying to kill them, version.

She felt a wave of bitterness rise up . . . it was just another fucking day in the neighborhood.

Feeling the sudden tension in Emily's body Hotch rubbed her back as he asked cautiously, "are you ready to do this?"

Her jaw clenched as she nodded, "yeah, I, I . . ." she tipped her head back to look at him, "I just suddenly felt," she swallowed before she said through clenched teeth, "so . . . ANGRY!"

The last word came out sharply enough to make both of them flinch. And as Emily tried to get her temper back under control, she bit her lip as her eyes dropped down to the carpet. Then she started taking deep breaths.

She didn't need this now. She needed to keep everything locked up or it would all get away from her.

Hotch's expression softened as he brushed his hand along her cheek, "just go with the anger Emily. It'll help get you through the day."

That's how he got through half of his life, just being pissed off.

But . . . he felt a stab of regret as he looked at her trying so hard to get her emotions under control . . . that wasn't her way. She locked them up into separate compartments. She didn't allow one emotion to rule her.

And watching her take her slow even breaths, it was obvious to him that was how she preferred to deal with things today too.

His finger ghosted along her jaw, and when she looked up at him he gave her a sad smile. "I'm sorry," he said apologetically, "that wasn't good advice. That's how I deal with things. And I don't, I don't . . ." his eyes shifted away from hers for a moment as he finished softly, "well, I don't want you to be like me."

His eyes were slightly moist as looked back at her, "I want you to be you," then he touched her cheek as he whispered, "I wouldn't change you for anything."

The last thing he wanted was for her to follow his example. To make her into the horrible shell that he had become. Unhappy, morose, discovering that simply making a connection with another human being was a Herculean task. And then being utterly terrified that by having made that small connection with her now, that he would do or say something to drive her away.

If that happened, he honestly didn't know if he was capable of trying again.

A wave of warmth rolled over Emily, washing away the bitterness and the anger. She leaned up and wrapped her arms around Hotch's neck. And when he straightened up, he kept her close as he hugged her tightly, lifting her slightly off the ground.

Even if she'd wanted to, Emily knew that it would have been impossible to maintain that righteous anger being wrapped up in his arms like this. and she decided that this is what she'd rather focus on.

Not the hate . . . but the love.

Whether it was capital L love yet she hadn't decided. But it was love.

That was the wave that had washed over her. That was what she felt when he whispered in her ear and then held her close. And that was going to be what got her through the day. Knowing that she had him in her corner, that even if they had to maintain their distance at the office, she would come back to his apartment with him and she could cuddle up and be safe and warm . . . and loved.

Big L or little didn't matter.

And as he clutched her to his chest her eyes began to sting as she started to wonder if she could have had this before. If there might have been a way to breach his walls before the horrors of last night.

If they'd just spent months wasting time that they didn't really have.

The thought of it made her heart ache.

She bit down hard on her lip as she turned her head to breath in his scent. And as she felt it fill her, soothing her, that's when she realized that she couldn't focus on the what ifs, the what ifs with Lipsky, or the what ifs with Hotch.

None of them mattered. She'd made the decisions that she'd made. And they had all brought her to this moment with him.

Hotch hated to let her go, hated to put her down . . . hated that that they had to start this awful day.

But it was time.

So he slowly lowered her to the ground, leaning down to place a kiss on top of her head before he leaned back to look at her.

"Let's go find Daisy."

* * *

_A/N 2: As this one was coming together it was clear that by separating them to get ready for work they both were going to have time to think. And they couldn't go from what was happening in the bedroom to just moving on to the rest of the day like none of the other stuff that they had been feeling lying in bed together mattered. They needed to deal with that. And deal with it, post coffee, post shower, wide awake, walking around making real decisions about their lives way. Not, just woke up, cuddled together kind of way. I wanted them to have some even keel to move onto the rest of it. _

_Also, in my continuing efforts to find a fresh reinterpretation to their relationship, clearly their physical attraction here is coming to a boil a bit faster than perhaps in other worlds. Unlike Second Chances where sex was a bond before the emotional attachment, here they have the emotional attachment already. And it's something that they're just approaching with an adult mindset in that things have been simmering between them in canon and this event has pushed them to the point that the act would provide comfort, but they both know its not the time. And this is not going to become an M story but yes, I will let them have sex as soon as they're ready :)_

_Taking a point from canon as to Big L and Little L love, I think that it would be safe to say, regardless of your chosen ship, that if any of them were really putting themselves out there to offer comfort to someone else on the team, that the Little L would be there without question. It would be there from canon and their attachments to one another. And I didn't want them to suddenly be, "oh my God I love you! OMG I HEART YOU TOO!" here :) If you've ever been in love, not just lust or infatuation but real honest to God love, then you know it's a big deal coming to that decision if this is your person that you could happily spend years of your life waking up with everyday. So the depth of their feelings for each other is something that they both need to work through before they can admit it to themselves, let alone each other. _

_Also with the back and forth of Hotch trying to be more open, and then realizing that something he told her . . . with the best of intentions . . . was actually really bad advice, was important too. He's still trying to find his way here and he needs to stumble a bit before he gets it right. I also don't see Hotch as a 'casual compliment' guy. Dave and Derek, yes. Perhaps even Reid to a lesser extent, but not Hotch. For him to start opening his mouth and saying what he thinks to a woman about how she looks or what she's wearing, that would be the shift for him moving into 'relationship' mode whereas Morgan and Rossi could freely have these conversations with women they met on the elevator. _

_We will be getting back to the more "suspenseful" plot points in the next chapter. Them leaving the house seemed a good point to break though. So hopefully you all got your fill of the cuddling and making out because it's going to be a little hard to work that into the bullpen scenes :)_

_I have nothing else written here right now (we've reached the end of the stockpile) but actually I'm going to tuck this one to the side for a couple days while I put up the conclusion to Communication Breakdown and the next chapters of Finding and Spirits Bright. Hopefully we'll be back here sometime next week._


	8. Two Steps Backwards

**Author's Note: ** It's been much longer than I had thought when I put this aside for "a week" but, stuff happened and we're back now.

I had such a hard time figuring out the approach I wanted to take for the day. Their Friday. A lot was going to be happening and if I'd done it all 'live' it would have gone on for half a dozen chapters, and I knew I didn't want to do that. So this is how I _did_ decide to do it, and I'll explain at the end why I went this route.

We're opening with Hotch's observations late in the afternoon.

* * *

**Story Title Prompt Set #2**

Author: Elizabeth George

Prompt: A Moment on the Edge

* * *

**Two Steps Backwards**

Hotch shifted his gaze up from his notepad to eye Emily from across the conference room table.

She looked pale.

His jaw began to twitch with concern, but he knew that she wouldn't appreciate him staring . . . earlier that day she'd smacked him on the knee for it when they were meeting with Detective Durant . . . so he reluctantly tore his eyes away from her pretty face, dropping them back down to the three words that he'd scribbled on the legal pad in front of him.

_Change Emily's locks._

Twenty plus minutes into JJ's briefing and those were the only notes he'd taken. And no, they were not at all relevant to the topic of the current discussion. A discussion which he knew that as chief of the unit he should perhaps be paying a bit closer attention to if he wished to retain said title.

But well, he quite frankly just didn't much care.

Between the meeting with Strauss . . . awkward . . . the meeting with Kelly's chief . . . painful . . . and the meeting with Durant . . . both awkward and painful . . . the day had been as long and stressful as Hotch had expected it to be. So he'd just been running on autopilot for the last couple of hours. It was the only way to get through everything while half of his attention was focused in on Emily wherever they went.

Nothing had really been accomplished today anyway. Yes, they'd had all of those uncomfortable meetings but the bottom line was that Lipsky was still in the wind. Durant said they received thirty-seven tips off the APB, only twelve of which had been deemed truly viable. Of those, there were only a couple on the hot sheet that interested Hotch. One was the possible sighting of him at a truck stop in Spotsylvania County. The reason that held more weight than any of the other tipline sightings was that he'd been seen by a retired Connecticut State Trooper who'd called in after he saw Lipsky's picture on the news.

The retired trooper . . . Mr. Gunderson . . . was on his way home from his winter stay in Florida. He and his wife had stopped for gas at three am and Lipsky had been in the bay next to him. And Gunderson said that the reason he remembered him at all was that though he'd been wearing a zipped up parka, there had a notable brown stain on his pants.

The splatter pattern had shown up under the fluorescents.

At the time Gunderson said he had commented to his wife that it looked like blood. And she'd said he'd spent too many years on the job, that he was suspicious of everyone now and that most likely the man was just covered in paint.

Sure enough though, those years of suspicion had paid off. When they pulled the security tapes, Lipsky was indeed on the camera at 2:57 am filling up a late model four door Ford sedan. It wasn't his vehicle of record so the State Police were running it down on the grand theft sheets. No luck so far but Hotch figured he'd probably switched the plates off one car and then stolen another to slow down positive ownership.

He'd be surprised actually if that wasn't what he'd done because one thing that was already clear, this man was no idiot.

So that trace was going to take awhile. And the only other items of interest to Hotch were the land deeds that had turned up an hour ago down in Buckingham County. It was property registered to Lipsky's stepfather so it had taken a bit of digging to find. But it turned out that the stepfather . . . along with Lipsky's mother . . . had both died in a suspicious fire a few years ago.

The land had been left to Lipsky in the will.

Though it seemed unlikely that a man who had thus far evaded roadblocks in four states . . . not to mention two months of avoiding detection as a stalker by a woman trained to spot them . . . would choose to hole up in such an obvious locale. But still, stranger things had happened. So Durant had people on their way down there now to check it out.

And by "people" he meant a half dozen detectives, four local deputies and two SWAT teams with matching canine units.

So right now Hotch had all of that spinning around his head as JJ was running down an update on a situation they were monitoring down in Texas. Multiple body dumps near Amarillo. Hotch had absorbed enough of her presentation to know that they'd just found three more decomposing corpses.

That was literally about all he'd retained though.

Hotch started tapping his pen against his knee to work off his nervous tension . . . fortunately Dave had taken a special interest in this case anyway . . . he had had a previous case in Amarillo years ago . . . so most likely he was committing all of this to memory as JJ went along. Which was just as well because the part of Hotch's brain that wasn't sifting through all of these new factoids about Lipsky looking for behavioral patterns that would help catch him, simply could _not_ stop thinking about Emily. How she didn't need to be there for this briefing with the headless corpses, that these new glossy decomp photos were just going to feed her nightmares tonight.

He'd had these concerns before they walked in the door, so just before the meeting had started he'd pulled Emily aside and told her that she could skip the briefing today and just catch up on the file next week. But of course she'd insisted on attending. She said that she appreciated his concern . . . she'd been saying that a lot today when he started to get over protective . . . but that this was her job and that she was going to do it. And then she'd said that after spending the majority of the day immersed in the hell that was her own life right now, all she wanted was a little normality to finish out the afternoon.

She'd sounded so exhausted that Hotch just hadn't had the heart to point out that the study of prostitutes being abducted, sexually assaulted, dismembered and scattered throughout the highways and byways of the Lone Star state wasn't considered a "normal" past time by anyone but perhaps the six people in that room.

The six people that Hotch could see were practically vibrating with tension as they sat tapping their pens around the table. And he knew that tension wasn't over the matter that was being discussed.

It was over the matter that wasn't.

First thing that morning they'd pulled the team in to apprise them of the events the night before. To say that they were upset didn't even begin to cover it. It had gotten even worse when Hotch had ordered them to stay completely out of the investigation.

Even as he'd been succinctly reviewing the facts of the situation, he had been watching the reactions of the others at the table.

Disbelief, concern, horror . . . and finally a righteous fury.

A fury which had been directed away from Lipsky and on to Hotch directly as soon as he told them that they were completely hands off the investigation or he was writing them up. Though he'd known that wasn't going to go over well, he was unyielding on that point.

As a result there had been a lot of yelling, a lot of F bombs, Morgan had paced the room like a panther and Dave had slammed his fist into the table.

Not one of them could see that he was trying to protect them. Or if they did, they didn't care. All they saw was that one of their own had been threatened, they wanted to close ranks . . . and he was standing in their way.

Finally Emily . . . who had been quiet up to that point . . . had spoken up quite loudly and said that if they wanted to help her then they'd do as he'd asked. That on top of everything else, the last thing she needed was to worry that they were risking their careers for her. That that though she was thankful for their support and concern, they'd already been down this road before and she wasn't having it again. And then she said very firmly that if they didn't obey Hotch's orders on this matter then she was going to go on leave and that she would track down Lipsky herself on her own time.

Though Hotch knew that was a bluff . . . for one thing she knew that he never would have allowed her to do it . . . the threat had shut them up. And once Hotch had control of the room again he had shot them all a glare as he'd finished up what he had wanted to say earlier. That though they were to stay out of the INVESTIGATION, they could assist them in other ways. That he would occasionally need an extra body with them for off duty tasks . . . he stressed the _off_ part of the duty . . . and that if anyone wanted to help in that way . . . essentially as a security detail . . . then he would allow it.

That had taken his head off the chopping block. And when he and Emily left a few minutes later to go brief Strauss, Rossi and Morgan had worked out a schedule with the two of them as primary support and Reid and JJ as backup.

The team was also . . . unexpectedly . . . helping them with Daisy. Though the plan had originally been to leave her in Hotch's office, with him and Emily off the floor for half the day, Emily had felt a little agitated leaving Daisy completely alone. So Reid, Garcia and JJ had been taking turns catsitting while they were gone.

A bit surprising given that he'd never had a pet, Reid was the one that Daisy had responded to best. And when Emily had come back from her Durant meeting to find Daisy asleep in his lap while he reviewed case files, she had given him a sad smile as she'd dubbed him the Cat Whisperer.

Hotch knew though that Emily had terribly guilty having to leave her for so long after the trauma she'd suffered the night before. She was just incredibly grateful that Daisy was bonding with somebody besides just the two of them.

So the cats needs had been addressed. And as to Emily's needs, tomorrow Dave and Derek were meeting them at Emily's condo so that she could get some of her clothes.

A trip to Emily's bedroom . . . Hotch's teeth started to grind as those pictures flashing in his head again . . . yeah, that was going to be fun.

Hotch was pulled out of his weekend planning when Emily suddenly stood up and bolted from the conference room. JJ and Morgan both pushed back their chairs but Hotch was already out of his seat, shaking his head as he started towards the door.

"I've got it," he jerked his thumb towards Daisy curled up in the corner of the room.

"Reid, you watch the cat."

Ignoring the looks exchanged among the other members of the team . . . their newfound closeness had not gone unnoticed . . . Hotch hurried out of the conference room, catching sight of Emily just as she disappeared into his office.

"Thank God," he muttered to himself. That would have been a bit awkward following her if she'd run into the ladies room. As it was he was barely four steps behind her so he caught the door just as it was falling shut. She must have known it was him because she didn't even look back. Knowing that they'd need the privacy, after he'd stepped over the threshold, Hotch turned to lock the door and pull the blinds before he looked over to Emily.

She was standing by the window with her back to him.

Her shoulders were shaking.

His gut started to ache again . . . it was the first time that he'd seen her cry since they'd left his apartment. But given how raw her emotions were, he had known it was only a matter of time before the dam burst again. Really, given that it was almost three, she'd been doing amazingly well. Though she'd clearly been very subdued and her eyes had been a little watery for much of the day, in all she'd kept her composure for more than seven hours.

This day had been so hard, and it had been so frustrating for him that there hadn't been anything he could do to shield her from the pain of it all. And feeling a wave of sadness wash over him in sympathy for her plight, Hotch walked over to the window and stopped directly behind her. She didn't acknowledge his presence so he slid his hand up and along the curve of her hip. Then he pulled her back to his chest.

Her body was soft and pliant so he slipped his arms completely around her waist and tipped his head down to nuzzle her neck.

This was obviously not typical office behavior, but this was not a typical day at the office. And as long as they were completely alone with no chance of being seen or interrupted, then he saw no reason to restrain himself from attempting to comfort her as he had that morning.

And if he was honest with himself, he'd actually been dying to touch her all day.

"Do you want me to get you anything?" He murmured against the soft skin of her neck.

He could have asked if she was okay, but clearly she wasn't. He just wanted to know if there was anything he could do to make her feel better.

Emily sniffled as she squeezed the calloused fingers resting on her belt buckle.

"Um, coffee maybe would be good, but um," her voice cracked, "in a few minutes, okay?"

Damn it. She'd been doing so well, this was the first time that she'd cried since they'd left Hotch's. But that time in the briefing had surprisingly been what had broken her composure. It was the first mundane, routine activity she'd participated in all day. Every other meeting or conversation had in some way revolved around her or Kelly or Lipsky. So for all of those discussions she was in the spotlight, maintaining a professional demeanor by the skin of her teeth. But the briefing was a segment of time like a thousand that had come before it . . . her mind had begun to wander.

Wander off into areas that she had no business thinking about within the Academy walls.

Feeling Hotch press a kiss to her neck, Emily closed her eyes, picturing them walking out the door right now and going back to his apartment and curling up in bed for the rest of the day.

But . . . her eyes popped up again as she sniffled . . . they couldn't do that.

They still had work to do.

Hotch winced as he saw Emily's hand come up to wipe across her face. He wanted to kiss her again, to see if that would make her feel better, but he stopped himself.

He had told himself that one quick kiss was okay, that nobody else would know . . . but he knew.

And he knew that it wasn't right.

Regardless of the stress of these unusual circumstances, they were in the office. And just because they were alone, it was still completely inappropriate to engage in that kind of behavior. Though he knew that just holding her this way wrong too, that was one point where he was willing to bend his own moral code.

God knows a professional pat on the back wasn't going to cut it in the comfort department today.

Still though, wrapping his body around her like this couldn't be a long term fix either. It was too intimate. So he walked them over to the leather sofa and sat down, pulling her onto the cushion next to him. If they were home he'd pull her into his lap, but they weren't home.

So he simply put his arm around her shoulders and tucked her against his side.

This, he decided, would be his happy medium. He could be a comfort to his . . . well, whatever Emily was to him now he didn't yet know. But he could at least be a comfort and not feel like he needed to write himself up.

And seeing that Emily had stopped crying now, he tipped his head down to rest against hers. He knew that she just needed a minute. So they sat quietly for a little longer as he ran his fingers through her hair. And then when it seemed as though her respirations were coming at a calmer pace, Hotch pressed his lips to her ear.

"What do you want for dinner?"

He was trying to boost her up to go back out into the bullpen. Just a reminder that they were going home soon would hopefully be enough.

Emily rubbed her hand along Hotch's thigh before looking up at him with a sad smile.

"Can we make spaghetti and meatballs?"

Though her appetite hadn't really returned, that was comfort food to her. She knew that she had to eat, so she might as well try to eat something that would maybe make her feel a little better.

Hotch nodded as his free hand came down to rest on top of hers.

"Yeah, we can do that," he said softly, "we'll get what we need tonight."

God knows Lipsky could be seven counties away by now, but Hotch wasn't taking any chances on safety. And there'd been no time for his planned shopping excursion mid day, but Morgan and JJ had already volunteered to be their extra eyes for the trip to Food Lion after work.

They said it was no problem staying late.

Though as Hotch checked his watch and then remembered that it was a Friday night, he decided to just fill a box with his files and paperwork and let all of them leave on time. That way they could get that errand done at a reasonable hour.

The days were getting a little longer and it wouldn't be completely dark until six. So if they made a list and went quickly, ideally they'd be unloading grocery bags in his kitchen by the time the moon was high in the sky. Because as he'd decided yesterday, there was no reason to be out and about after dark unless it was absolutely necessary.

Bad things happened in the dark.

Feeling Hotch's fingers tighten over hers, Emily knew that some stray thought had just gone through his mind. And feeling badly that she was making him worry more than he was already, she took a few deep breaths before she turned to look at him with a faint smile.

"I'm ready to get that coffee now."

Hotch stared down at Emily for a moment before he picked up her hand and kissed the back of her fingers. Then he nodded.

"Me too."

/*/*/*/*/

_**Five hours later**_

Emily took another sip of her wine as she waited for Hotch to come in from the kitchen.

Grocery shopping had gone off without a hitch, all items on the list . . . plus a number of impulse buys . . . crossed off within a half an hour. They'd ended up splitting the price of six bags of food. Mostly frozen and non perishable items so . . . if it came to it . . . they'd be covered for meals for at least a week.

They'd invited Morgan and JJ to stay for dinner, but Morgan said he had plans . . . Emily thought he was lying . . . and JJ thanked them but said that she wanted to get home to Henry.

That one was clearly the truth.

So with it being just the two of them, Emily had insisted on making him dinner. She felt that it was the least that she could do given that he'd opened his home to her. Hotch had reluctantly agreed to go into the living room while she cooked on the condition that he alone would be responsible for clean up.

He was adamant that he didn't want her to feel like she needed to earn her keep. And he'd punctuated his argument with a kiss and a hug, and that's when Emily remembered that they were trying to keep their relationship on even footing. And sharing the workload for a joint meal was fair, so her remaining protests had fallen away.

Sitting in the living room waiting for him now though was essentially the first time all day that she'd been alone with nothing to do. It felt strange. And though she was tired . . . she pulled her knees up to her chest . . . she didn't want to go to bed yet.

She really didn't want to go to bed at all. She chewed her lip worriedly . . . being assaulted over and over in her dreams was most definitely an experience that required no encore. And though she'd known that Hotch's presence last night had helped push away those horrors, she also knew that him being with her in bed wasn't a guarantee that she could keep her subconscious from traveling the same dark roads again.

And regardless of whether there was another body beside you, Emily knew from experience that dark roads were always traveled alone.

Or at least it seemed that way.

"The dishes are done and the leftovers are put away."

Emily's eyes snapped up as Hotch stepped into the living room. He was wiping his hands on the jeans that he'd changed into when they'd come home from work.

And seeing him like that, hearing those words come out of his mouth, suddenly she felt a wave of hope wash away her thoughts as it filled her empty spaces. It was a hope that those were words that she could hear him say regularly, that this simple scene of domesticity would play out time and again. That they could somehow make this work, and they could regularly trade chores and make announcements about tasks that mattered not at all. And she wanted to talk about that with him.

Her gaze fell down to the hand where his wedding ring once lived . . . she wanted to talk about a lot of things.

Hotch looked down at Emily for a moment. While he was cleaning up she had changed into the pajamas that he'd given her last night, and now she was curled up in a ball on the end of the couch.

He wanted to ask why she was sitting that way. If it was because she was cold, or because she was frightened . . . or because she was sad.

But he was afraid that she wouldn't give him a truthful answer, so he said nothing as he sat down beside her, leaning over to place his pistol next to hers on the coffee table.

Something was on her mind, something that was making her shut down again. Of course he knew a lot of things were on her mind, but a lot of things had been on her mind all day. It wasn't until they'd gotten home and had begun putting away the groceries that she'd become more subdued.

Pensive perhaps was the word. But he didn't want to push, last night she'd opened up because he was patient and affectionate.

He was hopeful that approach would work tonight as well.

But on the off chance that her posture was related to more mundane considerations, he decided to get up and go over to turn the heat up another notch.

Perhaps that had been part of the problem, because when he returned the couch, rather than staying closed in on herself, she shifted around and he reached over to put his arm around her shoulders. And as she tucked her body against his side he pressed a kiss to her temple.

So far so good.

He decided to try a question.

"I know it's still early but you didn't get much sleep last night," he murmured against her skin, "do you want to go to bed?"

It was only eight-thirty but it felt much later.

"Um . . ." Emily's pause stretched out as she considered those nightmares again, "I don't really think I can sleep now, but if you want to then . . ."

"If I want to, I can what?" Hotch cut off the rest of her sentence with a question and a raised eyebrow as he looked down at her. "Go to bed alone and leave you sitting out here by yourself in the dark?" He huffed humorlessly, "not happening."

Okay, sleeping was a no go. Though given what had happened last night he couldn't really blame her.

Emily's eyes crinkled slightly at his dismissive tone.

"I was just trying to be polite. I mean," she rubbed her hand across her mouth, "I've already invaded your home and totally messed up your routine and your weekend plans with your son. I don't want you to feel like you have to, you know . . . entertain me or anything."

Though it was a bit of a ham handed approach, she was trying to get him to bring up this topic that she wanted to discuss. Routines and weekend plans seemed like a good opening.

Or at least a path to segue way into the other things.

But unfortunately Hotch either didn't get the hint, or didn't realize there was a hint to get, because he just patted her arm as he murmured dismissively.

"Don't be silly Emily."

And then he stopped. And she started to think that maybe he did realize there was a hint to get there . . . and he was choosing not to take it.

Her assumption seemed a slight sounder to her when a second later he announced a bit too loudly.

"I pay for cable that I'm never home to watch but I'm sure there are some movie channels on here somewhere."

Hotch leaned over to pick up the remote off the coffee table before he clicked on the TV. As he waited for the flat screen to come to life, he chewed the inside of his cheek with a slight bit of impatience.

He knew that he should have responded to Emily's statement more fully, reassured her a bit more. But he didn't want to. It was as simple as that, he didn't want to. It seemed to him that if he tried to say anything more on his feelings about her being there, that he'd end up dragging himself into the larger discussion about how he'd feel about her being there all the time.

Perhaps in a few more days he might start to broach that topic, but not tonight. Not after the day they'd had.

As Hotch began flipping through the channels, as she tried to decide if she should find a different way to bring up this topic, Emily's hand began to glide slowly across his stomach. Though the one thing that she knew with full confidence was that the nature of their relationship had changed completely that morning, she was still adjusting to the idea that touching him intimately like this . . . like she'd wanted to touch him for so long . . . was now allowed. And as she watched the pictures on the screen flip from people to animals to places over and over again she slowly exhaled, trying to focus on nothing but that moment.

A simple, _normal_, moment. Barring all of the undercurrents of their life at present . . . including her omnipresent guilt and grief over Kelly's horrible death . . . this was just a regular Friday night with a regular couple sitting on the couch and watching television.

Her chest started to tighten . . . but how much of that was an illusion?

Because she already knew that this wasn't a regular Friday night. If it was then they wouldn't have their matching Glocks displayed on the coffee table in front of them. And there wouldn't be a squad car still sitting out front. Not to mention his son would be here, probably in bed by now, but he'd be in the apartment.

And really . . . even moving beyond those points . . . they weren't a regular couple anyway. They didn't go out, and he didn't bring her flowers or make romantic declarations or . . .

Her brow began to wrinkle in concern . . . wait, were they even a couple at all?

She'd started to think so this morning but now she didn't know.

She knew that he cared about her a lot and that when he kissed her she felt connected to him like she'd never felt with anyone before. But she also knew that he felt badly about how things had played out with Matthew's death . . . he'd told her that himself . . . so she couldn't deny that some small part of her had been worried that, in part, his decision to become involved with her right now was a decision being fueled by a guilty soul.

And as she sat there on that couch wrapped around his side, she began to really focus in on that idea, the idea that this relationship . . . her fingers clenched into his t-shirt . . . was being built on a foundation of guilt and past regrets. And if that were true, she began to wonder if when the scales were even again and his guilt had been assuaged, would he still want to be with her? Not just sharing her bed as she knew he wanted to, but in a _real_ relationship.

The long term, sharing chores and blankets and checking accounts kind.

Feeling a new wave of sadness come rising up, Emily eyes started to burn . . . maybe they really weren't a couple. Maybe this was all just temporary. Maybe it was all going to burn out when Lipsky was caught and they went back to what passed for normality in their fucked up lives.

A tear spilled over . . . but she didn't want that to happen. She knew that she was in no position to be making decisions about anything so important, but she knew that she didn't want that.

She also acknowledged that the fact that she was overtired and emotionally wrought was perhaps causing her to obsess over a situation that perhaps didn't need so much obsessing at the moment. After all, it had only been a day. But she couldn't help how she felt, all these unexpected . . . unwelcome . . . worries now festering in her brain. And for a few more minutes she let them fester, let them dig their little holes, and poison the one good thing she had going in her life right now.

And when she suddenly realized that this thing with Hotch truly was the ONE good thing going in her life, she decided that she was just making more worries for herself when she already had a full plate served up to her this week.

And once she came to that realization, the rational part of her brain began to assert itself again, reminding her that sometimes just going with the moment . . . which was what she was doing earlier . . . was the best approach to life. A happy life anyway.

If you think too much about things you can ruin them.

So with that thought now once again the dominant one in her mind, Emily took a breath, her gaze shifting back to the television where she looked at the images flickering on the screen.

He'd stopped on _The Goodbye Girl_.

She liked that movie.

Okay, so _this_ was the current moment in her life, cuddled up on the couch safe and warm with a sweet, strong, kind man. Now was she was going to obsess, or was she going to just live this moment?

She tipped her head onto his chest . . . _'live,'_ she thought with a sigh. And maybe if she did that, just embraced this moment, then she would become distracted from her other worries.

Not just the ones about Hotch, but the ones about everything else.

And for awhile it worked. She and Hotch sat and watched that old movie for more than an hour. But as the film went on and she watched these two very different people try to forge a relationship, the other questions . . . the Hotch questions . . . began to run through her mind again. And she decided that living in the moment was great advice, but that having some clarity was good too. With that thought in mind, she knew that she didn't need to have all of the answers tonight . . . but she needed to have some.

So she pushed herself back from him, and up and onto her knees. When Hotch turned to look at her she leaned in and kissed him. And then she pulled back, looked at him for a moment . . . and then she leaned in and did it again. That time when she began to pull away, she felt Hotch's hand curling around her hip. As the kiss deepened, she let him pull her over to his lap where she looped her arms around his neck and began tapping into the emotions they had discovered were bubbling just below the surface.

Though she knew that things had already gotten out of hand once today, that wasn't her intent now, she just wanted to see what this was that was feeding the rest of it.

Was it his guilt, the sexual attraction, physical longing . . . or was it more?

As she felt Hotch clutch her desperately to his chest, Emily knew that there was more there. More than just the attraction, or the guilt, and more than just the longing to take things to the next step. And as hard as she was trying to focus intellectually on how she felt about what was happening, those exact feelings kept distracting her.

These things that she felt with him . . . she felt a little spark as his fingers slid around the curve of her breast . . . she could see clearly that they were leading her down a path from the little L to the big. And she needed to know if he was on that path too. That was the answer she needed from him.

And she needed to know now.

So with a gasp she reluctantly broke away from him. They were both panting and when she looked up she could see the confusion in his eyes. His own unasked question.

Why had she stopped?

Though part of her knew that it was wrong to get him worked up like this and then blindside him with a conversation about feelings . . . men hated to talk about feelings at the best of times . . . the rest of her felt that she had a right to know what was going on between them before she fell any further.

Before she fell in love.

"What are we doing?" She asked breathlessly.

"What?" Hotch's respirations were shallow as he tried to hide the panic that was bubbling up. He was feigning confusion but of course he knew exactly what it was she had meant by her question. But he'd already decided that this was not a conversation that he wanted to have tonight.

But as she slid off his lap and back onto the couch, he knew that Emily did want to have this conversation. She'd let it slide this morning when they were in bed, but she clearly wanted to have it now.

And he knew then that his fears about being pushed into something that he wasn't ready for were about to come true.

"What are we doing right now?" Emily elaborated as she reached over and picked up his hand, "this," she said softly as she squeezed his fingers, "what is this? Are we together now? Are we a couple for real? Or is this just a . . ." her voice stuttered, "a convenience. An attraction that we're acting on because of this situation we've found ourselves in."

Seeing Hotch's eyes were wide now with a rapidly unveiling panic, Emily tried to make him understand why she was asking these questions tonight.

"I know that there are bigger concerns right now," she whispered, "that our safety is the thing we should be focusing on, but . . ." a sad smile touched her lips as she reached over to caress his cheek, "I really like you a lot, and I know that it's been hard for you to open up, and I'm not trying to make you feel uncomfortable," she shook her head, "I'm not looking for commitments. I just . . . I just want to know if you're serious," her voice started to get husky, "because I am. And I don't want to get too attached to you if we aren't looking for the same things."

Hearing the emotion bleeding into her words, Emily stopped talking. And then she cleared her throat as she waited for him to respond. But as the silence continued to stretch out she saw that this harder for him than she had thought it would be.

And then when his eyes shifted away from hers she finally understood that he didn't know how to answer her questions. That he didn't know what to say.

So he continued to say nothing.

And the longer they sat there in silence, the more agitated she became. And then she started to get really irritated with him. Part of her knew that she was being irrational. That it was unfair to be putting him on the spot like this.

But she couldn't make herself take it back. Because most of their day had been spent dealing with the tangible after effects of last night's hellish bombshells. But these answers that she wanted from him now, they were the intangible. The illusive, but she wanted them all the same. She wanted to make something real from this now, so that she'd know that if she continued to fall for him . . . as she knew that she would . . . that she wasn't falling by herself. But when Emily saw that he was still refusing to lift his head, she dropped his fingers and reached over to pick up her gun. Then she swung her feet to the floor, stood up . . . and walked away.

Just before she left the room, she paused for a moment to call back over her shoulder.

"If you decide that you do want to talk, I'll be in my room. If you don't want to talk, well . . ." she cleared her throat, "I have my gun so I think I might be all right sleeping by myself tonight."

And then she walked out, praying to God that he was going to come after her.

* * *

_A/N 2: Oooh, conflict! Given that they are going from zero to sixty here intimacy wise, there was no way that they weren't going to eventually have a little tension. She just wanted "something" from him to show that his feelings for her were leading to something deeper and he completely shut down. Not cool. I really like this Hotch though, he's more f'd up than Girl'Hotch, a few more dents in his armor. In my mind their both canon, just exploring different aspects of his personality so I'm creating their relationship out of a whole different ball of wax. _

_This world, I realized why I like writing it so much, putting aside the Big Bad with the stalker situation, it reminds me of Mirror. Writing 'grown up' relationships and all the messiness that comes along with them. It's fun :)_

_I haven't decided yet how I'm going to work in the team which is why I refrained from popping into any of their heads yet. I really don't know what I'm going to do with them, but by the time the guys show up on Saturday morning I'll have made some decisions there. _

_Good news, about half of the next chapter is written already so we should not have another four month posting gap :) If anyone has any particular dangling participles that they were hoping I'd address here that I didn't, please let me know. I didn't see any dramatic potential in following them from meeting to meeting and rehashing things over and over. Essentially, as Hotch said, the investigation's kind of stalled right now. It's a manhunt that they can't participate in, so the focus for them (at the moment) isn't frenetic tracking, it's just digging a moat, pulling up the drawbridge and finding a way to live in their fort together._

_That's all folks. And I know expectations were a bit high so I hope the return didn't disappoint! _


	9. Words Versus Actions

**Author's Note:** Thanks so much for the enthusiastic response to the last chapter! Apparently a few of you had missed this story ;)

This one is picking up immediately from the last one.

* * *

**Prompt Set #10 (September)**

Show: Everwood

Title Challenge: He Who Hesitates

* * *

**Words Versus Actions**

Hotch watched in his peripheral vision as Emily left the living room, then his eyes snapped up from the coffee table to watch her disappear down the hall.

His hand scrubbed violently across his mouth before he cursed to himself.

**FUCK! **

He stood up and began pacing in agitation . . . bravo Aaron! Despite his best efforts to NOT screw things up, he had just driven whatever the hell their relationship was completely into the ground! He couldn't believe that he'd just sat there like an IDIOT while she attempted to have a real conversation with him!

What the hell was WRONG with him?

Though admittedly . . . he tried to backtrack to see where things had gone wrong . . . he had been completely blindsided by the whole discussions. One minute she's sitting in his lap and they're having a great time exploring all of the perks of their new relationship, and the next thing he knows she's pulled her lips away and she's talking. Asking him questions. SERIOUS questions!

Of course he knew that they'd have to talk eventually, eventually he would actually WANT to talk, but given her amorous behavior, and the overall crappy day they'd had, he'd been positive that she'd no intention of getting into any of that TONIGHT.

Obviously though . . . he slammed his fist into his palm in disgust . . . he'd_ completely_ misread the situation! She had most definitely wanted to talk. Though as he thought back on her actual words, he realized that she didn't even really want to have a big talk, she just said that she was looking for a little bit of assurance.

She wanted to know if he was serious about her.

Was he serious? It was such a seemingly simple question. And he knew that a seemingly simple one word answer would have sufficed to make her happy. And then he could have asked to table any additional conversation for a later date. Knowing Emily, how understanding she was, that probably would have been fine with her.

But he hadn't given her that one word answer. Instead he'd done a fabulous imitation of a stone statue. And the worst part of it all, he WAS serious! Even with the complications of the stalker situation, and all of the obstacles in place at work, he didn't want anyone else but Emily.

And he hadn't wanted anyone else for a long time.

Right now he was risking his career for her, and he was possibly weeks away from risking his entire _future_ at the FBI for her. But yet tonight when faced with the moment of revealing those thoughts to this woman he'd been slowly falling for this past year, he couldn't even make EYE contact with her!

He felt a wave of shame and self loathing . . . pathetic.

His eyes shifted towards the hall again as he stopped pacing . . . he couldn't leave things like this. Though he'd love to at least sleep on it, he didn't think it was wise to even wait until morning before he talked to her. Right now not only was she clearly angry and upset with him, which was bad enough, but beyond that . . . she doubted him.

And if he let those doubts fester, she might just decide that with all of the other turmoil in her life right now, that she didn't need his crap too. Not that he'd blame her, not at all. That was actually one of his biggest fears . . . that she'd come to realize that she could do a hell of a lot better than him.

Then she'd walk away.

But . . . he took a breath as he tried to move his focus from that terrible future . . . he truly believed that if she'd just give him a chance, he could make himself a better person for her. Perhaps that person still wouldn't be good enough. But he just wanted that chance to try.

And as terrified as he was at even the thought of it, trying needed to be something that began tonight. At least five minutes had already ticked passed, so he knew that he needed to go talk to her _right_ now before he made this any worse.

He just needed to say _something _. . . anything really, before his one moment of cowardice caused a serious strain in this fledgling new relationship. His failed marriage had taught him how quickly a strain would lead to a rift, and a rift . . . he bit his lip . . . well, a rift could not only ruin his chances for any kind of a future with Emily, but she might very well even leave him this weekend.

Perhaps not "break up" . . . if that word was even appropriate for how things were with them right now . . . but if things were awkward enough in the morning, she could easily decide to move out. That she'd prefer to stay with Dave or Morgan for the duration of this situation with Lipsky because the thought of staying here with him would make a bad situation even worse.

His eyes started to burn . . . and that was sadly a very plausible chain of events. But he couldn't let that thought even float through her mind. Because if it did . . . if she moved out this weekend because of his actions tonight . . . he knew that he'd lose his chance to prove himself to her.

And that would break his heart.

Realizing that he was wasting time that could better spent making amends, Hotch went over and picked up his revolver from the coffee table and shoved it into his waistband. The fact that he now needed to stay armed as he traveled from room to room in his own home was another tangible reminder of how much had happened in the last thirty-six hours.

And as he walked slowly out of the living room and down the hall, he thought about all of the other things that had happened. The good things with Emily . . . and the horrible things with Kelly and the knowledge of Lipsky's violations . . . and then he thought of the words that he wanted to say to her now. Of course even as he figured out the words that he wanted to say, he knew that was no guarantee that those would be the words that he would be capable of saying to her face.

Most likely he was going to be winging it.

When he arrived at the guest room Hotch saw that she'd left the door slightly ajar. The profiler in him felt that was a good sign.

She wasn't so angry that she didn't want to see him.

Still though, he knocked once before he pushed the door completely open. His eyes immediately locked with hers just a few feet away.

She was under the covers, sitting up in bed reading . . . more likely pretending to read . . . what he knew were the notes that they'd pulled together during the review today with Detective Durant. He wanted to tell her that she shouldn't be looking at those now, that they'd feed her bad dreams.

But he knew at present he had no right to lecture her on anything . . . so he kept his tongue.

The moment stretched out, and for a second he was terrified that the same thing that had happened in the living room was about to happen again. But then he saw the tension on Emily's face and he realized that his cowardice was making everything harder for her.

For a second he started to think that maybe she would be better off without him. But then he remembered the passion in her kisses, and the way she had clung to him in bed.

She needed him.

More than that though, he needed her. So even if she would be better off finding a less fucked up support system, he knew that he couldn't let her go. Not like this.

So he took a shallow breath . . . and started talking.

"I'm sorry for what happened in the living room," he said softly, "I was caught off guard and I," he cleared his throat, "well, I handled that very badly. I was rude. That said," he shook his head slowly, "though I know that you're looking for an answer from me, I'm still not ready to talk about this whole situation right now. Not tonight."

And then he stopped, hoping that would be enough of a response for her to let it go for now. But as he saw her eyes begin to glisten right before they fell away from his, Hotch knew that wasn't going to be enough. And then he remembered her words to him and he could see how his response was completely inadequate to her pouring her heart out to him. He'd simply apologized for his rudeness, but he'd said nothing beyond that.

But he didn't know what else to do.

He wanted so badly to tell her the thoughts he had in the hall. That he had often lain in bed at night, staring up at his ceiling and thinking about a possible future with her. Wondering if they would be happy together, wondering if she would love his son as much as he hoped that she would. Wondering if she would like to have a child of her own.

And if she did, would she like to have that child with him.

All of these questions and a million more were sitting on the tip of his tongue . . . but they wouldn't come out. He was absolutely terrified of giving his heart to her and having it crushed as Haley had done once before.

Though as he saw her hand come up to wipe her cheek he realized that he had made her cry. He felt a terrible stab of pain in his heart for not yet being able to say the words that she wanted to hear. So tried to think of something else that he could say, something not so terrifying, something that he would be comfortable telling her.

Something simple . . . a thought came to him . . . simple and true.

"I know that I've never told you this before but I think," he started on a halting whisper, "I think that you're one of the most beautiful women that I've ever seen."

When her watery eyes snapped back up to his, he continued softly, "I also think that you're one of the nicest people I've had the privilege of knowing. And I think that you're strong and brave and funny," he gave her a sad smile, "and so smart. So smart actually that sometimes I wonder what you're doing with us when you should be off with Reid building rocket ships."

Seeing another tear slip down her cheek before her eyes dropped again, Hotch knew that he was making some connection with her. Whether or not it was enough for her to forgive him, he didn't know. So he took a step closer to the bed as he pleaded.

"Please Emily," he whispered sadly, "please don't be angry with me, but that's all I can say right now. The rest of it, I'm just . . . I can't. But I promise that we will talk more, just please," he shook his head, "not today."

He was praying that she would say something, that she would forgive him and tell him that it was all right.

But she said nothing.

And when it became apparent that the words that he needed to hear weren't words that she was going to say, the bitterness of that irony was a dagger in his heart.

You reap what you sow.

Still he stared down at her for a moment longer, waiting until she lifted her watery eyes again before he tipped his head back towards the hall.

"I uh," he cleared his throat as he saw a tear spill over, "I understand if that's not enough but I am," his voice caught, "I am trying Emily."

When she continued to stare at him in silence with tears running down her face, Hotch felt another stab in his heart . . . maybe trying wasn't good enough.

Unable to bear her tears any longer, he looked away from her, whispering his parting words to the floor.

"I'll leave my door open if you need me."

And then he turned, his stomach aching as he walked out.

/*/*/*/*/*

After Hotch walked out, Emily stared down at the SpongeBob bedspread for a moment before she sniffled and wiped the corner of her eye.

All of his words were running through her mind. The one that kept coming back to her was that he thought that she was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen.

She sniffled again . . . that was so sweet. And he had said those other lovely things. But . . . she felt an ache in her stomach . . . they were all things that he _thought_ about her . . . not things that he _felt_ about her.

And there was a huge difference.

If they did become involved, _really_ involved, would their relationship always be one where she would be hanging on every word of affection, hoping someday to hear the 'I love You,' but always having it side stepped with a kiss and a 'you look pretty.'

Her brow wrinkled . . . and if that was the only way that he could be in a relationship with her, would that really be so bad? Would it be so awful to have a man tell her that she was pretty and kind . . . she felt a sob bubble up . . . and smart?

Damn it . . . Emily bit her lip as she wiped her hands across her face again . . . why couldn't she just be happy with the sweet answers that he had given her? Why couldn't she just read between the lines of what he was trying to say?

Why did she have to want more than he could give?

And dear God . . . she suddenly flashed on his face before he left the room . . . why did she let him leave without telling him that she accepted his apology and that he was forgiven?

He'd looked so hurt.

She suddenly felt a stab of shame as she realized that she may have done that on purpose. Wanting to hurt him with her silence the same way that he had hurt her with his.

Another tear ran down her face . . . but that was cruel. She knew that his silence had been born out of genuine fear, hers, if perhaps unplanned, was still just spiteful.

'Hateful bitch,' she thought bitterly, 'this is why you're still alone.'

And as she tried to move beyond those ugly thoughts that were bleeding into her consciousness, Emily tried to focus again on the sweet things that he had said to her. This time not holding them to a profiler's standard of his verb choices being evidence of what he wasn't saying, but instead focusing in on the actual words that he really was saying. And when she did that she realized that even without looking too hard between the lines, that there were some answers mixed in there too.

They might not have been the conventional answers . . . but they were something.

And provided conventional answers came later . . . she pushed back the blanket and swung her feet to the little throw rug . . . something would maybe do for now.

It would depend on the answer to the last question she needed to ask him.

Before she left the bedroom Emily looked back at her gun on the bed. Given that she had no pockets, and she was only going across the hall where Hotch had his own gun, she decided to leave hers.

She'd be back in a moment.

Though before she went into Hotch's room, Emily decided to make a quick stop in the bathroom to wash the sticky tears from her face. When she stepped back into the hall she tugged nervously on her oversized t-shirt, pulling it down over her bare legs. Then she took a breath and stepped around the corner and into Hotch's doorway.

He had changed into just a t-shirt and boxers and was sitting on the edge of his bed. His head was down.

"Hotch?"

To her own ears, her regular speaking voice sounded abnormally loud in the quiet apartment. It must have to him too, because his head immediately snapped up in alarm.

"Are you all right?" He asked worriedly.

Though she knew that he'd asked her a question she needed to answer, for a moment Emily paused before responding to him. Looking into his eyes she could see the sadness there, and she felt a new pang of grief knowing that she was the reason for it.

But that was something that she could fix now. So she nodded slowly as she stepped over the threshold.

"I'm okay," then she took another step closer as she said quietly, "I just wanted you to know that I accept your apology, and I'm not angry anymore."

Seeing the relief in his eyes her guilt was pushed back slightly, but still she knew that they couldn't get too far ahead. So she put her hand up.

"But I need to know, and please be honest, will you really be ready to talk soon? Or is that just," she swallowed, "wishful thinking?"

She didn't want to be cruel, she just needed to know where they stood.

Hotch began to shake his head as he stood up, "no, it's not just wishful thinking. I promise that we will talk again later in the week. I just need a little more time to . . ." he searched for the word, "adjust."

Adjust, work his way through forty plus years of scar tissue, same difference.

"Okay," she said softly as her eyes dropped to the floor, "okay."

When she looked back up at him they stared at each other for a moment before Emily put her hand out.

"I don't want to sleep by myself," she whispered, "my bed's too cold."

A sad smile touched Hotch's lips as he crossed the room, "can't have that."

"No," Emily grasped his fingers as he walked up, "we can't have that."

Hotch leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead before pulling her into a hug.

"Thank you for being patient Emily," he murmured against her hair. And she nodded back against his chest, "I don't want to fight Aaron," her arms tightened around his waist as her voice got husky, "you make me feel better. You make me feel safe, and tonight," she kissed his throat, "that's all that matters."

She didn't want to create a problem where there wasn't one. Sharing was hard for her, but clearly it was a Herculean task for him. And maybe that would eventually become a real problem for her. But she accepted the truth that he really had been trying. And as she thought about it, in many respects he'd been doing well.

Certainly his behavior was night and day from his interactions with her of only a week ago.

The last twenty-four hours he'd shown himself capable of being incredibly affectionate and supportive. Not just with words, but with his actions as well. So she'd give him another week to keep his promise. If hadn't brought up the conversation on his own by next weekend, then he would ask him one more time. And if he still couldn't follow through, well . . . she sighed against his chest . . . she'd just cross that bridge if they got to it.

For now she just wanted him however she could get him.

Not trusting his voice, Hotch simply rubbed his hand down Emily's back as he kissed the top of her head.

If he wasn't careful . . . if he didn't get his shit together . . . he was going to lose this. This and all the rest that could come later. So even if he couldn't say the words tonight, he needed to do something else to show that he was trying to open up his life to her.

His head swiveled slightly to look back across his room.

"You know," Hotch said slowly, "my bed's bigger than the one in the guestroom. So maybe you could, um," he took a breath, "start sleeping in here with me instead."

This morning he had decided that his actions would be the best way to prove his commitment to her, and that was going to be the path that he stuck to until he could work everything else out. So hopefully she would understand that to him, this offer was huge. Because the only woman he had _eve_r shared his bed with was Haley.

Those other women that he'd slept with, they'd gone to their homes. But he couldn't imagine asking either of them back to his own.

Knowing that it meant something for Hotch to let her share his private room, Emily tipped her head back to give him a sweet smile.

"I think that sounds really nice."

Hotch touched Emily's cheek as his eyes crinkled slightly, "good," and then he leaned down to give her a kiss. A kiss which Emily immediately deepened by sliding her tongue along his upper lip. And as he opened his mouth and she sighed happily he felt a surge of relief and his own happiness knowing that he had been forgiven for his other failings tonight.

So a few seconds later, when Emily slipped her arms around his neck, he picked her up off the carpet and her legs locked at his waist.

Still kissing passionately, he carried her over to the bed, laying her down in the middle before he climbed on top of her, his fingers sliding under the t-shirt that was bunched up around her waist. His lips started working their way along her neck as his hands slowly worked that faded blue t-shirt higher and higher, his digits lovingly caressing her beautiful breasts just once before he slid them back down to her waist again.

He was fully prepared to rein his explorations in at that point, worrying that Emily would think that they were moving too quickly. Then to his surprise she pushed him back and for just a second he thought that he had already gone too far.

But then he saw her yank the shirt completely over her head and fling it across the room.

A small grin spread across his face as she smiled shyly.

"More please."

They might not be ready to have sex yet, but she definitely wanted their first makeup to involve more than just kissing. Kissing was this morning, but things had changed since then.

Hotch's eyebrow quirked up in amusement before his thumbs moved to flick over her erect nipples.

"Yes, ma'am," he murmured as lowered his head down to one of those lovely little pink peaks.

Their makeup make out was now veering well into foreplay territory, but Hotch was okay with taking the cold shower that he knew was going to be needed before this session was over.

Whatever he needed to do to make sure that they were back on track again.

So as he slowly and lovingly lavished attention over first one breast and then the other, he tried to say with his actions all the things that he couldn't yet say with his words.

Emily's eyes fell shut, her fingers raking through Hotch's hair as that wonderfully talented mouth of his that she'd just discovered kissed so amazingly well, moved off to explore other parts of her body. He kept everything above the waist but he did dip down over her stomach and that sensitive spot on her hip. And he went the length of her upper body from earlobe to breast to hip and back again until he was doing all of her favorite things like he'd done them thousands of times before. He licked and he sucked and he nibbled and caressed until she was writhing on the bed, her leg hooked over his thigh as she moaned and ground up against him.

It wasn't quite an orgasm . . . but it was pretty damn amazing all the same. And it most definitely wiped all of her fears and worries about him from her mind.

It seemed ridiculous to be concerned that a man would be unable to commit as he worshiped her body this way. And he was worshiping . . . her arms slid around his chest as his kisses started to move up her throat again . . . knowing that he had no hopes of having sex tonight. Though of course she knew that he was enjoying himself too, his pleasure here clearly wasn't the same as hers. And his actions showed a selflessness to his affection for her that she would remember the next time she started to worry that his emotional baggage was going to derail any possibilities of a future together.

And as he slowly moved his kisses across her jaw and to her mouth, she decided that the day he was capable of answering her question with words and not just actions, would be the day that they would take this all the way.

Hopefully though . . . she attempted to catch her breath . . . that day would be coming _very_ soon.

Hotch slipped his arms around the still panting Emily, pulling her tightly to his chest before he rolled onto his back.

Well . . . he tried to get his own breathing under control . . . given how badly things had gone in the living room, that was definitely _not_ how he'd thought he'd get to spend the rest of the night. And though he really would have loved to slide the last scrap of Emily's clothing off her body and finish what they'd started . . . that wasn't an option yet.

That was okay though . . . he kissed her temple . . . as alternative activities went this was still a pretty excellent way to spend the evening. And given her physical reaction to those activities . . . how quickly he was able to figure out what she liked . . . he was feeling a surge of confidence that maybe he could figure this whole thing out sooner than he'd thought.

So he wanted to say something to her now . . . something else that she might find some comfort in . . . but he was afraid of ruining the moment. But then he heard her whisper against his throat, "I think we should get your lips bronzed for posterity," and his mouth quivered slightly before he shifted his eyes down to look at her.

"Does that mean that you're happy?"

"Oh yes," Emily leveraged herself up with his chest to press a kiss to his lips. "Very happy," she sighed before giving him a little pout.

"But now that the festivities are over I'm getting a bit chilly."

They were still on top of the . . . now severely mussed up . . . quilt and her shirt had gone flying God knows where. So now she was down to just her underwear and his body heat to keep her warm. And though the body heat was very nice, it was still the middle of February.

But seeing Hotch's brow wrinkle right before he shifted her to the covers, she knew that he was moving to rectify her impeding goose bumps situation.

"One second," he said as he climbed off the bed and went over to grab her/his t-shirt from where it had landed on the desk. He came back and helped her pull it on over her head and arms, and then to her surprise, he scooped her off the bed, cradling her to his chest as he pulled her into a fierce hug.

Feeling the desperation in his embrace, Emily was about to ask him what was wrong but he seemed to sense a question was coming because he shifted his hold slightly as leaned down to pull back the blankets.

And then he preempted her question completely with a statement of his own.

"I need to go get the lights and check the door."

'_And jump into a freezing cold shower for about five minutes,_' he added drolly to himself as he placed her on the bed and picked up his weapon from the nightstand.

When she gave him a little smile and asked, "can you get my Glock too please? It's on the bed." His expression softened as he pressed a quick kiss to her lips.

"Of course," he put his gun back where he'd found it, "I'll just leave you mine until I get back."

And then he gave her one last look before he turned and walked out of the room.

Emily watched Hotch go before her gaze shifted around his bedroom, looking at his books and his photos and the art on the walls.

He was sharing his room with her.

A spot of warmth spread through her chest before she turned to look at the gun . . . his personal weapon that he never would hand over to anyone . . . that he'd left for her on his bedside table. And then she rolled over to bury her face in his pillow, breathing in his scent.

'_They might just make this work.' _

* * *

_A/N 2: Given this is a very "adult" version of their relationship I decided that neither of them would feel just a kiss would be sufficient to fix the level of bump they were trying to smooth over. That was a mighty big stumble on Hotch's part. And I thought it also rang true that with Hotch, someone so private and closed off, that him opening up his private space to her would be an emotionally symbolic step and Emily would appreciate it as such. Not saying that they won't hit some more speed bumps on the personal communication front, but they're okay for now. And that's what they needed to be because they have to wake up and go to Emily's apartment. Clearly that's not going to be a good time so I wanted them hunky dory again before that happened or else I would have to put all those thoughts in Emily's head that maybe it really would be best if she moved in with Dave or Morgan until things wrapped up. Nobody in her situation would want (or need) the extra stress of an awkward relationship while trying to deal with the rest of what's happening. _

_I won't have another update here for a good week or so. I really need to get the Hours moving again. It's just those blessed Christmas chapters that are slowing things down. It's hard to think Christmasy thoughts when it's like 102. But now that it's cooling down a bit (and the humidity is at least passing) I'm hoping they'll roll onto the page with a bit more ease._


	10. While I Pondered Weak & Weary

**Author's Note: ** This was supposed to be up on Sunday but as some of you may know, the entire site crashed for at least an hour. And then when it started coming back up it was twitchy, working and then crashing, so I thought it best to save it until everything seemed copacetic again.

As I said on yesterday's post, the massive delay in getting anything up was due to RL sucking up pretty much all of my free time for over a week. But we're back now and I am "hopeful" fingers crossed, to get a few more items up this week. Also I'm going to repaste my two announcements from the other story. If you read them already, you can keep walking, nothing new to see here folks:

**_Prompts Announcement_**: New regular prompts and new bonus prompts (Halloween themed) went up in both forums, plus another set of Fan's Pick in TV Titles, so tons of new inspiration this week.

_**And one other announcement**: _I have been forgetting to mention this simply because I'm pretty removed from the rest of the fandom so it's never fresh in my head when I'm posting, but this week I made a mental note! So if you aren't aware already, ilovetvalot and Tonnie are running 2010 fic awards over on their ChitChat Forum. They run across all of CM and nominations close on October 15th at midnight EST. To learn more about what to do and how it works, you can go to one of their profile pages. And now I am very proud of myself because I have _finally_ remembered to be a good dooby and publicize that information as I had promised ilovetvalot I would like two months ago, even before the nominating period opened :)

Back to this story, we're picking up with Emily a few minutes after Hotch left her alone in the bedroom.

* * *

**TV Prompt Bonus Challenge #24 – Fan's Choice, Take 3: **

Show: Satisfaction

Title Challenge: What Do You Love

* * *

**While I Pondered Weak And Weary**

Emily was still staring up at the ceiling when she heard the bathroom door shut, and then a few seconds later the water began running in the shower.

Well . . . her brow knitted slightly together . . . given what had been pressing against her in bed she'd been pretty sure that Hotch was going to be longer than a minute, and that was her confirmation. Though now she was feeling even guiltier for being the only one that had actually achieved some release from their makeup session, so she made a mental note that once they'd progressed to the next step physically that she needed to be sure to do something special that night to make tonight's cold shower up to him.

And even though Hotch wasn't a typical man, Emily was pretty sure that she knew exactly _which_ something special, he'd enjoy the most.

But in the meantime . . . she pushed herself up from the mattress to look around the room . . . knowing that he was going to be at least a few more minutes, she certainly wasn't going to just lie here trying to fall asleep without him. She already had confirmation today that too much time in her own head would lead her down bad roads. And most likely her subconscious would be leading her down those roads in a few hours. No need to hurry up the process. So she needed to do something to kill the five or ten minutes until he got back.

Emily bit her lip as she thought for a second . . . well, she could go get her legal pad from the other bedroom and finish making notes of locations that might have CCTV footage of Lipsky's stalking activities. Eh . . . her nose wrinkled . . . no, there'd probably been enough of that for today. It would just put more bad thoughts in her head if she started picturing grainy video footage of that murdering bastard standing behind her in line at the grocery store or the gas station.

Though she was quite sure that footage was out there somewhere . . . and it would help them build their case for court . . . she could finish that list up tomorrow when the sun was up and Hotch was sitting three feet away from her. Tonight, while she was lying here alone in a quiet apartment, just doing something mindless like watching television would probably be a better way to kill the time.

'_Yeah, good plan Em,'_ she congratulated herself. And spotting the remote sitting on top of the bookcase across the room, Emily slid over and swung her feet to the hardwood floor. As soon as she stood up and was out of the warm bed a shiver ran down her spine.

Brrr . . . she rubbed her hands down her bare arms . . . Hotch must have turned the heat down when he went out to check the locks. That was okay though . . . a faint smile touched her lips as she crossed the room . . . tonight, for the first time in a long time she was going to have somebody to snuggle in bed with. Last night didn't count, that wasn't snuggling, that was . . . desperation.

Her nightmares had been pulling her down into a terrible abyss and Hotch's presence had helped to drag her back out again. But tonight they were sleeping together because she wanted to, not because she needed to. And just like with Hotch's thoughts versus his feelings, there was also a difference between her wants versus her needs. And as long as she kept that straight in her head, then hopefully things would be okay.

Hopefully then . . . her fingers curled around the remote . . . she wouldn't fall too fast.

As Emily turned to switch on the television, a small ache unexpectedly settled in her chest. She was wondering what Kelly would say about the developments in her relationship with Hotch.

If she would have approved of Emily becoming romantically involved with her boss.

Emily's eyes started to burn as she thought about her old friend . . . probably not. Kelly would never do such a thing herself.

Done.

The correction immediately popped into Emily's head. And feeling a wave of sorrow, she wiped the corner of her eye as a tear spilled over. Kelly would never have _done_, such a thing herself. Kelly was never going to "do" anything again so everything needed to be past tense now. She had no present . . . and she had no future.

She was dead.

Feeling her grief again begin to tear through the protective layers of scar tissue that had formed last night, Emily started taking quick shallow breaths, trying desperately to tamp it down even as the tears started to trickle. She didn't want to start sobbing again before bed. Her nose would run like a faucet and her eyes would get sticky and swollen. That was all just going to make her feel even lousier when she woke up tomorrow. And given that tomorrow was the day that she had to go back to her apartment and try not to have a complete emotional breakdown when she walked through the front door, there was really no reason at all to make that trip any worse by getting herself all worked up tonight. Then she'd have not only her emotional difficulties to deal with, but she'd feel physically crappy too.

She'd be 0 for 2 before she even walked in the door.

So once she'd gone over to get the box of tissues off the nightstand, Emily blew her nose and wiped her face, then she went back and picked up the remote again. This time she snapped the television on immediately before she got distracted, turning the volume down low as she went over to sit down on the end of the bed while she flipped channels.

Though she knew it probably wasn't a good idea, Emily couldn't stop herself from pausing on CNN, watching the ticker as it scrolled underneath Anderson Cooper's torso. It only took a second for Lipsky's name to appear.

_. . . still at large . . . Edward Eugene Lipsky wanted in connection with the brutal murder of a federal agent . . . considered armed and extremely dangerous . . . do not approach . . . _

Despite the pep talk she'd just given herself about all the reasons she didn't want to cry, Emily's eyes began to fill again almost immediately. This time though, she felt different, her grief was mixed with a righteous anger.

There wasn't one mention of Kelly's name in the ticker. She was just the nameless, faceless "federal agent" and that piece of shit got both his name and his face out there. As they say, there's no such thing as bad press, so Lipsky gets to become famous . . . or better yet, _infamous_ . . . for stalking her and slaughtering her friend. There was no justice. Because after all that . . . the hot tears started running again . . . Kelly Hsu, a strong, smart, brave woman who served her country honorably for sixteen years, she would just be forgotten. And that fucking ASSHOLE . . . Emily angrily scrubbed at her face as her thoughts went rampaging . . . he's probably going to have a TV movie made about HIM! Something telling the world what a sad pathetic childhood he had and how he only wanted to be loved and then a bunch of idiot women would start sending him marriage proposals in prison, and oh my GOD . . . she screamed in head . . . life truly does SUCK!

Realizing she was allowing herself to get WAY too worked up, Emily took a deep shuddering breath . . . time to calm down now. She was definitely moving through the five stages and had now stopped on royally pissed off. But she knew that even with Hotch's presence, she was never going to get to sleep if she kept going down this path of anger and bitterness.

She was only hurting herself, not Lipsky.

Though as she tried to stop her tears, Emily suddenly had a thought . . . a more positive one . . . maybe when this was all over she could have JJ call in some favors and make sure that Kelly's story got told too. Have at least one reporter write a story about Kelly where Lipsky was simply a footnote and not the lead. And given the guilt that she felt over her friend's death . . . the guilt that she was going to continue to feel until the day she herself died . . . Emily made a promise to whoever was up there listening, that somehow she'd find a way to make that happen.

It was literally the least thing that she could do to honor Kelly's memory.

Starting to feel a bit more sanguine now that she had an outlet for handling her grief, Emily began blowing her nose for the third time in as many minutes and that's when she realized that stopping on CNN really had been her worst decision so far tonight. The complete emotional breakdown really being her first clue there, she thought with some disgust, so she shook her head, trying to clear the bad thoughts, as she began quickly flipping channels again, stopping only when she saw something animated appear on the flat screen.

Though she had no idea what it was, it good enough for now. So she wiped her tears away one more time, and then she took another breath to try to clear her head and center her thoughts.

She tried desperately to center them on Hotch.

To remind herself how happy and safe she felt when she was with him, all of the sweet things that he'd said to her in the other room, and then . . . most importantly . . . that he'd be back and crawling into bed with her in just a few minutes. Literally just five or six more minutes at the most. And there was no reason that she couldn't keep her shit together for five or six minutes.

That would be pathetic.

So she blinked, looked back to the television and then wiped the moisture away from her eye as she changed the channel again . . . and then one more time.

Seinfeld.

There we go . . . she dropped the remote on the bed . . . that was much better than cartoons. Still light and mindless, but not so light and mindless that her mind would begin to wander before Hotch returned.

Now that she'd picked a show to watch for the next five minutes . . . it was ridiculous how difficult a decision that had turned out to be(!) . . . Emily stood up, about to turn and go climb back under the covers again.

And then she froze.

She'd heard a noise. It sounded like . . . her brow wrinkled . . . a knock.

She wasn't sure though. It was so faint that it could have been her imagination . . . her eyes snapped back to the television . . . or maybe it was on the show.

No . . . she bit her lip as a little tickle started at the back of her neck . . . they were in the coffee shop.

Okay, not TV so that meant the noise, whatever it was, was in real life. And if the last two days had taught Emily anything, it was to make damn sure not to let her guard down again.

Feeling her breath start to quicken, she hurried over to the bedside table and picked up Hotch's revolver. Once her fingers slipped around the grip and she'd hefted the weapon up in her hand, she started to feel infinitely better . . . more in control.

Nothing like holding a loaded gun to help take away the jitters. So she took three steps, stopping in the open doorway as she cocked her head to the side, listening intently.

Nothing.

Nothing that it is but the faint canned laughter of the sitcom behind her, and the still running water from the bathroom off the hallway in front of her.

Emily's jaw started twitching back and forth as her eyes dropped down to the Glock in her hand.

Had there really been a noise? Or was it just her imagination? Or maybe just a sound out in the street. This was a busy area, and it's not like it was the middle of the night. It was only . . . her head swiveled over to the look at the clock on the cable box.

11:15.

And as she looked back out into the hallway she reminded herself that for city dwellers, that was still pretty damn early. Lots of people were still up and about at this time of night.

The noise could have been anything.

Still though, as she flashed on the pictures Lipsky had taken in her apartment, Emily knew that the only responsible . . . _smart_ . . . thing to do was to check it out a bit more thoroughly before she dismissed the whole idea that somebody was knocking on Hotch's front door. So she continued into the hallway, walking slowly, pausing for a moment outside of the bathroom as she quickly debated in her head as to whether she should alert Hotch to the possible presence of someone in the outer hall.

No . . . she shook her head as she kept walking . . . it's not like she THOUGHT she heard somebody in the living room. _That_ would be an emergency. Here she thought, she _might_ have heard somebody knock from the other side of a locked door. And the more seconds that passed . . . it was closing in on a solid minute now . . . where she heard no additional maybe knocking, the more she was thinking that it really had been just a random street noise, or maybe totally something in her imagination.

So that right there was one more point in the, _'no reason to yank Hotch out of the shower yet'_ column. The last thing she wanted was to look like she was losing it, getting panicky and overreacting to the slightest creak of a floor board. Though she might at present only be wearing a man's faded t-shirt and pair of discount store underwear, that didn't change the fact that she was still a trained . . . and even more importantly, _armed _. . . FBI agent . . . she stepped into the living room . . . and more than capable of looking through a peephole all by herself.

So what if her heart was starting to again race in her chest . . . she stopped in front of the coffee table, her weapon coming up as her eyes began to bore a hole into the outer door . . . after everything that had happened a bit of nervousness was perfectly understandable.

But then Emily felt a wave of relief wash over her when she realized that not only was the door clearly still tightly shut, but the deadbolt was still set as well.

Good, okay . . . she let out the breath she was holding . . . not that she'd really thought that even if somebody had knocked (maybe) on the door that it would have magically transported that person into the living room . . . it wasn't "Open Sesame" . . . but still, she felt better for seeing the locks set.

In fact, she was beginning to feel slightly embarrassed about her initial spike of panic. Because as she was standing there staring at the front door, another plausible scenario had just popped into her head.

Somebody had been knocking on the _neighbor's _door and the noise had traveled.

That explained it completely. Why it was so faint, and why it was just the one time. Of course, she should have thought of that right away. So now all she had to do was just peep through the little aptly named peephole and then she could officially label this one a "False Alarm." Right, that's all she had to do.

But still she stood there not doing anything. And then she realized that she was still standing there not doing anything and she started to get really angry and disgusted with herself. Because she realized that she was standing there . . . acting like complete PANSY(!) . . . because part of her was thinking that Hotch would be out any second and then HE could check the door!

And that was bullshit! She wasn't a HELPLESS child! She was a fucking _FBI_ AGENT! The exact same as Hotch! Yes, she might WANT Hotch in her bed, and yes, she might WANT his emotional support, but she did not NEED his physical protection.

She could damn well take of herself!

All right Prentiss . . . she huffed out an angry breath as she started closing the last five feet between her and the door . . . then let's do this.

She took four more steps, and just as she started to lean in to look through the little round hole, Emily heard another soft rap . . . just one . . . and her eyes popped out as she leapt backwards.

JESUS CHRIST! Well, there was no doubt NOW where the person was standing!

On the other side of the door!

Her heart now pounding in her chest, Emily's eyes were locked on the doorknob as she slowly backed up to the center of the living room . . . DEFINITELY time to get Hotch out of the shower! There was no doubt now that there was somebody in the hall. And whoever the hell that somebody was, was creeping her the hell out!

Really, who the FUCK knocks ONCE every TWO MINUTES! And he WAITED until she was _right_ up to the door before he knocked the second time!

Almost like he knew that she was there.

Feeling a surge of panic clawing up that somehow Lipsky had cameras in there, Emily spun around.

HOLY SHIT!

She would have screamed . . . she almost did . . . but Hotch stopped her just in time, clamping his hand over her mouth as he whispered a frantic, 'SHHHH!_' _

When Emily nodded sharply that she understood his message, Hotch took his hand away, moving it down to grab her fingers, pulling her to his chest as his eyes shot over her shoulder. He'd been toweling his hair dry when he heard the faint sound of a knock. It was a little late for visitors so he'd picked up Emily's weapon off the vanity and had stepped into the hall to see Emily already in the middle of the living room with his gun. Though he initially hadn't been that concerned about someone at the door . . . Durant could have needed to see them . . . seeing her like that was enough to press his panic button.

As was the fact that Emily was now shaking in his arms.

"The door," Emily leaned up to whisper harshly in his ear, "there's _somebody _at the door! The first knock I thought it was just my imagination, but then he waited until I was standing right on the other side of the door before he knocked again and it's really freaking me out! What if Lipsky got in here today Hotch? What if he put cameras in here? He could be watching us!"

That thought might have been incredibly paranoid, but it was not going to leave her mind until they did a sweep of the apartment.

"Shhh," Hotch said softly as he pressed his lips to her ear, "it's okay. I don't think he got in here Emily. My locks weren't tampered with and he hasn't had any opportunity to get my keys."

"YES, he did," Emily interrupted with an urgent hiss, "when he was in MY apartment! I never use your keys so I wouldn't have noticed if they were missing for a few days. He could have made a copy and put them back the next time he broke in without my ever knowing."

Oh God! Why didn't they think of this before!

Feeling a little jolt to his system, Hotch nodded, the whole time keeping his sights on the door in front of him.

"Okay, uh, okay," he whispered back slightly flustered that scenario hadn't occurred to him before, "that is not an implausible chain of events that we will discuss in a few minutes. But regardless of whether or not that ever _did_ happen, I highly doubt that is Lipsky in the hall now. Because if he had keys then he would have just waited until the middle of the night to use them when he'd be sure we were sleeping. He knows that we're armed so he certainly wouldn't alert us to his presence."

Feeling a little bit of the tension leave Emily's body as she nodded against his chest, Hotch knew that his logical counterpoint had fully registered with her. So he continued on with a bit more confidence.

"So right now we need to find out who is in the hall. And we'll check the door together. If it's Lipsky then we get to resolve this whole situation tonight with a quick shot to the head, and if it's not him, then I'll let you read whoever it is the riot act for the next ten minutes," he rubbed his hand down her back, "deal?"

Though he agreed with Emily that was a bizarre knocking pattern, and that they REALLY should have had his locks changed too (idiot!) he still thought that it was HIGHLY unlikely that it was Lipsky here now. Not only did it make no sense for him to announce himself, but there was also a patrol car outside, and they'd talked to the officers earlier in the night. They seemed competent and alert so there was no way that they'd just let the man who had shot to the top of the Bureau's most wanted list simply waltz right past them and up to Hotch's front door.

No way.

Emily sucked in a breath as she murmured back against Hotch's chest.

"Deal."

Her panic was starting to fade . . . slightly. There was definitely something about Hotch's presence that made bad things easier to bear. And his logical counterpoint about Lipsky reminded her that he was WAY too smart to alert them to his presence. It had to be somebody else. So after giving Hotch quick squeeze where she inhaled as much of his clean soapy scent as she could, she let him go and they separated, him motioning for her to move to the right of the door as he took the center.

Fortunately the small table lamp he'd left burning by the window was providing them plenty of light to see what they needed to see.

Emily leaned flat against the wall next to the opening side of the door. And then . . . making sure to get the nod from Hotch first . . . she reached over and turned the deadbolt. Once the lock clicked, he mimed for her to turn the knob and then move back against the wall again on the count of three.

Roger that.

She jerked her head down sharply just once before they began the silent count.

One . . .

TWO . . .

Emily took a breath as her eyes locked with Hotch's . . . THREE!

And she twisted the knob, yanking the door open as she ducked back to the wall to stay clear from any friendly fire from Hotch. He was already clear through the open space before she'd even taken a step to follow him.

What she saw when she turned the corner and stepped into the outer corridor stopped her heart.

"OH NO!" Her eyes popped out as terror washed over her, "OH GOD!" she started to lean down as she cried out, "IS HE ALIVE?"

"WATCH THE HALL PRENTISS!" Hotch screamed over his shoulder as he crouched down to check the pulse of the bloodied body on the ground.

It took a second but finally he nodded, "he's alive! The pulse is faint," Hotch's heart was pounding in his chest as he pulled his fingers back, "but it's there!"

Thank Christ for that! But good God . . . he dropped the revolver to the floor so he could yank off his t-shirt to cover the shredded flesh in front of him . . . those stab wounds were horrendous!

It's a wonder he hadn't bled out already.

Hoping to staunch the flow of blood pooling on the floor, Hotch pressed the white cloth down over the worst of the injuries. Despite the pressure, it didn't even elicit so much as a twitch or a moan of pain from the man on the ground. Hotch started to feel true panic begin to claw up . . . he wasn't going to make it.

No . . . he shook his head as he pressed down harder . . . don't think that way! Giving up now isn't going to help anything!

But then he realized that simply keeping good thoughts wasn't going to be enough to help them right now. Because to his horror, Hotch felt the wet, sticky bloody soaking through to his bare hands. And when he looked down he saw the white cloth was completely soaked to red.

He'd hit an artery.

FUCK!

And given that he and Emily were both essentially in their UNDERWEAR(!) between the two of them, neither had any more clothes to spare as bandages!

Crap . . . his head snapped up . . . Emily!

He hadn't checked on her since he'd screamed over his shoulder, and as his gaze locked on her face now he saw that her eyes were wild with a barely contained panic and wet with new tears, but still, she was doing as he'd said . . . watching the corridor.

Good, okay . . . his own moist gaze shifted back to the body in front of him . . . that meant that this horrible discovery hadn't knocked her off her game. But one of them needed to go dial 911. Because if this body was in here . . . and Hotch could see that from the lack of splatter on the walls that the attack had been elsewhere . . . that meant that there were two more bodies outside.

The officers watching the apartment.

As Hotch had reminded himself mere moments ago, if they _were_ out there, then there was no way in hell that they'd just let Lipsky waltz right up to his front door without stopping him. And the fact that that was clearly what had JUST happened, indicated that before THAT had happened, those two officers had been completely incapacitated!

Incapacitated or worse.

But Hotch couldn't think about the worse right now, because he already had a worse in front of him. And they had to get to a phone. They had to get backup here _now!_ His hands were already sticky with blood that he couldn't stop from flowing, they had three law enforcement down onsite . . . and a psychopathic spree killer in the immediate vicinity. But . . . he thought with a burst of rage . . . they were in their pajamas! And pajamas did NOT have pockets for cell phones!

There was no way in hell though that he was separating from Emily right now. It was bad enough that he had to put his gun on the ground. He wasn't letting her leave his sight for even an instant because this had JUST happened! Hotch's eyes began darting along the closed doors of the empty corridor . . . Lipsky had to still be here somewhere so they needed to stay out here to watch the hall.

So what the hell were they supposed to do to get help? Just start yelling like civilians?

"His pocket," Emily whispered softly, trying to keep the tears out of her voice, "he keeps his phone in his right front pocket. Use that one."

Hotch snapped his head up to look at her . . . Of course! IDIOT! He berated himself as he pulled one hand off the bloody t-shirt to begin fumbling in the jeans pocket in front of him. Once he'd yanked the phone out, his first frantic call was to 911 to report three officers down, at least one critical and that he needed backup, a crime scene unit and a grid search leading out from that address for wanted fugitive Edward Eugene Lipsky. Just before he dropped the call, Hotch remembered to add that they also needed to have Detective Durant paged to this new scene.

The operator was still asking him to hang on the line until help arrived when Hotch started dialing the next number.

It rang twice before familiar voice came through the line, rough with sleep.

"What's the matter? Are you guys all right?"

"No," Hotch said softly as he stared down at the still body in front of him, "no we're not all right. I need you at my apartment now. Lipsky's been here."

"Christ!" Dave bolted up in bed, reaching over to turn on the lamp as he threw his legs to the floor, "what's happened? Are you hurt? Is Emily okay?"

Swallowing over the lump in his throat, Hotch's gaze moved up to catch Emily's watery one. As he watched the tear roll down her cheek he whispered into the phone. "We're not injured, but Lipsky was here and he left us a present."

"A present?" Dave asked in concern as he yanked on his jeans, "what _kind_ of present?"

When he heard nothing but silence come back from Hotch, a chill started to crawl up Dave's spine. He froze in the middle of his bedroom, turning back to go pick up his weapon off the nightstand as he asked the question again.

"Hotch," he said slowly as his fear started to rise up, "you tell me right now, what did he leave you?"

"Morgan," Hotch swallowed as his hand moved up to check the pulse again.

"He left us Morgan."

* * *

_A/N 2: Oh no! Morgan! And if you watch Family Guy then you know the proper way to yell those lines :) _

_I already know of at least one person that will be throwing something (non pointy) at me, and I'm sure there are a few more of you out there. But after the relationship building chapters I thought it was time to throw everybody back on their toes again with the reminder that this is also a "suspense" story in addition to the romance. And if you've been following my stories for awhile you do know that I do love to foreshadow :) And some of you did guess that Emily leaving her gun on the bed might have been an indicator of something bad coming, and something bad did indeed come._

_When I was sketching out the beginning of the story I was making myself think like a psychopath (so to speak) and I did make a mental note then that there was a technical possibility that at some point when Lipsky was going in and out of Emily's apartment that he might have decided to steal Hotch's house keys. Not saying yet that he DID, they have no evidence he's been in Hotch's apartment, it's just that now Emily has reached the proper level of panic that the thought has now occurred to her too. But try to cut them some slack there for not thinking of it before because it was a possible scenario with a VERY slim likelihood of it happening. But now that the possibility has occurred to them, then you'd have to think of all the other things that Lipsky MIGHT have done when he was wandering around Emily's condo in the wee small hours. _

_In case you don't know it, the title of the chapter is from Edgar Allan Poe's, The Raven. Kavi picked it as one of our Halloween prompts over in the Story Title forum, which is why I must blame her for the fact that I had the whole damn thing running through my head when I was writing this chapter. Hi K! :) But of course "someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door" was rather on point :) so I figured a line from the poem would be an appropriate title. It was really a bonus that it fit Emily so well for the opening scene. _

_I have the next chapter clear in my head but I haven't started writing it up yet. I'll try to get it pulled together for next weekend but it might be early the week after. I have a couple of other things close to being post worthy, plus I have a couple ideas for Halloween stories and I think I need to get them sketched out sooner than later because they're starting to become a distraction. I am branching out from the Being Emily Prentiss Stories and I'm going to write a "Being JJ Jareau" one shot revolving around Halloween. I think it should be fun :)_

_Feedback's a wonderful thing kids!_


	11. This It Is And Nothing More, This It Is

**Author's Note**: Hi kids! :)

First off, in case you didn't see my other posting last week, big thanks for all the votes on the Profiler's Choice awards!

Second, I know, I said things would be going up, yet nothing's been going up and I'm kind of becoming "the girl who cried posting." I do not want to be that girl. Nobody likes that girl. Really though, I'd kind of forgotten that the whole Christmas shopping/prep thing tended to be a real time/energy sucker. Or perhaps I just blocked it all out. I hate shopping. But it's the one time of year that you have to do it and the stores are hot and crowded and people are obnoxious and sometimes you want to strike them with a heavy object but you can't because that's illegal and then you get arrested and you lose another shopping day. So yeah, it's been exhausting! I've been falling asleep before I even _get_ to the time of day when I generally write. Clearly that's a problem, but one that I'm working out. Shopping is done, baking is left (tomorrow) and I'm only working two days of the next eight. Yay! So barring the Mayan calendar kicking in a year early, I should be getting up a good chunk of my stockpile of mostly done chapters and new stories by New Year's. And that's like 7 or 8 things. Honestly, if I don't get up at least five by the New Year, then please feel free to throw sharp objects.

So for this one (most likely our last Fracture in 2010), we left them on the 'oh no, somebody stabbed Morgan!' scene. Now we're opening up about twenty minutes later with Dave. Fair warning, as you'll see from the opening, Dave's upset.

* * *

**This It Is And Nothing More, This It Is The Fog Of War**

"ARE YOU FUCKING _**KIDDING**_ ME? GET THE **FUCK** OUT OF THE WAY!"

An enraged Rossi screamed obscenities out the window as he pounded on the horn of his Mercedes. Thanks to this ASSHOLE that had just pulled out in front of his car, he was now blocked in a no passing zone on a narrow two lane street! And as Dave watched his speed drop rapidly down from fifty to forty, to just under _thirty_, his rage spiked again and another string of profanities flew passed his lips.

JESUS CHRIST! His friends were in_ mortal_ danger right now and he had no time for this, this . . . he smashed his hand down onto the horn again . . . BULLSHIT! And without a red light in his personal vehicle he couldn't even get the dick to pull over to get the HELL out of his way! The fact that they were now practically kissing bumpers didn't even seem to be _fazing_ him!

Just as Rossi began to seriously consider a very stupid move . . . passing over the double line to get around the other car . . . they started to come around a curve and a shoulder appeared. Seeing an opportunity to make a break for it that wouldn't involve driving directly into head on traffic, Dave broke a hard right, spinning rocks and gravel as his sedan squealed up and passed the Hyundai in front of him. Once he was at minimum safe distance . . . his rear bumper had at least cleared the smaller car's front one . . . he jerked the wheel back towards the left, swerved onto the blacktop again and dropped the hammer down on the gas.

The other car had already faded into his rearview before he even looked up into the mirror again.

All right . . . Dave slowly exhaled as his sweaty hands clutched the steering wheel . . . now he was back in business! A quick glance down to the speedometer showed him that he was going fifty-eight in a thirty, which was almost ten faster than he'd been going before the delay three blocks back. And though he knew that was a dangerously unsafe speed in a semi-residential area . . . he didn't slow down. He didn't even consider it.

The only thing that mattered to him at that moment was getting to Hotch's apartment.

Granted . . . Dave's breath caught as he flew passed two men about to step into the street . . . it would be good if he could get there without running down any pedestrians in the process. The one thing in his favor on that point was that it was the middle of winter and close to midnight, so . . . that terrifying near miss notwithstanding . . . the percentage of people walking the streets now would definitely be low. Of course in the alternative . . . Rossi's teeth sunk into his lower lip as he passed a well lit pub . . . at this time of day the percentage of drunks on the road would definitely be higher.

But that was a risk factor he had no control over.

His jaw clenched as a burst of rage filled him . . . it was one of _hundred_ things that he had no control over tonight and they were all royally PISSING him off! Emily was being stalked by a psychopath, Hotch had a bulls-eye on his back because of it, and Morgan had just been butchered and left for dead. By pretty much every standard that mattered, Dave considered his world to be SERIOUSLY fucked up right now! At this point he had no idea if Derek was even still alive. Dave had still been on the phone with Hotch when he'd started to crash and there had been a lot of yelling from the paramedics and then the phone had gone dead. That was almost fifteen minutes ago and Rossi had heard nothing from Hotch or Emily since. So his mind had of course been racing through every worst case scenario there was, all while he simultaneously tried to convince himself that no news was, by default, good news.

If Morgan was dead then Hotch surely would have called to tell him that.

But then Dave's heart would begin to sink again as he reminded himself that the manuals they themselves drafted, said that death notifications were better delivered in person.

So really no news meant jack shit.

As Dave sped through the side streets of Alexandria County, there could be a forensics team snapping pictures of Derek's now lifeless body. There could be a medical examiner making notes on his lividity and checking his eyes.

He could be jamming a meat thermometer into his liver.

And though Dave kept trying to tell himself to stop picturing these horrible things that were causing him nothing but pain, he also knew that simply wishing the images away wouldn't prevent them from coming to fruition. What was done was done. And anyone who believed that they could control fate with a simple positive or negative thought, well, those people were fucking idiots.

But fate wasn't really what was at issue right now . . . it was simply Dave's peace of mind. And picturing Derek being sliced up on a slab was seriously f'ing up his ability to keep even ONE cohesive thought in his head! It didn't help that he'd had to listen to the sounds of Hotch frantically applying pressure to Derek's wounds while he and Emily waited for help to arrive. And though Dave knew from their words that they had been trying to stay emotionally detached from what was happening . . . he also knew them. Though they kept it buried deep under the layers of their armor, they were both so sensitive. And Dave had known from the strain in their voices as they discussed the injuries and the time passing.

They were in agony.

And that was all Rossi kept picturing when he saw Derek dead on the ground . . . a falsely stoic Hotch and a sobbing Emily standing over him.

Those images were going to drive Dave mad.

OH CHRIST!

Dave nearly hit the brakes as one new thought suddenly came screaming into his disjointed brain . . . THE OTHERS! He felt a wave of panic and fear rise up as he realized that he'd forgotten about the rest of the team! With everything that Hotch was dealing with Rossi had known that warning the others about what had happened to Derek wouldn't have been an immediate consideration for him. So that had fallen to Dave by default, that's why Hotch had called him . . . Rossi began frantically fumbling for his cell . . . and he'd completely dropped the ball. Granted it had only been thirteen or fourteen minutes since he'd hung up with Hotch, but still . . . he yanked his phone out of his jeans and voice dialed the FBI Duty Agent . . . that was ten minutes too long! If this prick could take out Morgan . . . a soft voice answered the 24 hour line and Dave began barking instructions into the phone . . . then JJ, Reid and Garcia wouldn't stand a chance! Christ, Garcia wasn't even _armed_!

Lipsky could have killed her and been half out the door before the first drop of blood had hit the floor.

Not that Dave had any proof yet that the team as a whole _had_ become a target . . . he had no idea the circumstances behind Morgan ending up on Hotch's doorstep . . . but given what had happened, it would be insanity to assume that they weren't on Lipsky's hit list. The only thought that vaguely comforted Dave as he dispatched security teams to the three residences around the metro area was that the other three weren't all _completely_ alone right now. JJ at least had Will, and Will also carried a gun. So between the two of them it was unlikely that Lipsky could take them both by surprise.

That thought settled Rossi's heart just long enough to finish up the call to the Duty Agent, but then as he hung up he remembered again what had happened to the two deputies outside Hotch's apartment building.

They'd disappeared.

They'd disappeared, leaving behind nothing but a clump of long hair, multiple pools of blood and one smashed police radio. There was no other sign of them. Initially Dave had been mystified when Hotch told him that he and Emily could clearly see the red lights bouncing against the glass of the entryway but that nobody was coming inside. But then that confusion, which lasted through Dave getting dressed, had morphed to a real terror as he was running out of his house and jumping into his car. When he'd peeled out of his driveway those officers still hadn't entered the apartment building, and he'd known then . . . something truly terrible had happened out in the street.

Something even worse than what had happened to Morgan.

Dave was halfway to the parkway before the secondary teams arrived and Hotch found out what had been keeping the first unit outside. They'd been following the streaks of gore leading from the squad car to the alleyway.

The broken radio was sticking out from under a dumpster.

As with Kelly Hsu, Lipsky had opted for the misdirection of missing bodies and a horrifically bloody mess to cause more confusion on the scene. It had been a deliberate distraction both times, one that had worked quite well for him on both occasions.

They were 0 and he was 2.

Dave had to give it to him, this guy was good . . . his jaw clenched as he scrolled down to "JJ" on the speed dial . . . _too _fucking good. He'd somehow taken out two urban police officers and highly trained FBI field agent. Not just any field agent either, this was Morgan.

Morgan!

How was that possible? Not to mention Lipsky's ability to evade police barricades at will. Dave just couldn't see how a God damn paper pusher . . . one with no recorded criminal history . . . could be this frigging, frigging . . .

Rossi's thoughts stuttered for a second as he tried to think of the right word for it.

Competent.

That's what it was. Edward Lipsky was ridiculously, insanely, _terrifyingly_ . . . competent. A civilian might not realize how disturbing that was . . . but Dave knew. Most criminals were stupid.

They made mistakes.

Even the serials that they were called in to catch rarely possessed a level of intelligence of a Ted Bundy. Most of them were just lucky . . . not clever. And the victims they picked were usually easy targets, people on the fringes of society.

People that nobody noticed had disappeared until months later.

But this guy wasn't stupid, he wasn't picking easy targets . . . Dave listened anxiously as JJ's phone rang over and over in his ear . . . and he didn't make mistakes. Not any that they were aware of so far. He knew that they were missing something about this guy, and it was something big. Because there was no doubt in Rossi's mind that when they were done digging through Lipsky's background, that they were going to find a hell of a lot more than just a simple obsessed stalker. There would be bodies buried somewhere.

Lots of them.

That was for later though . . . Dave jumped in relief as he heard JJ's sleepy voice suddenly pop into his ear . . . for now he just needed to focus on his team. On making sure that the rest of them stayed safe tonight. So he took a breath . . . and then he jumped in.

"Honey . . . something's happened."

/*/*/*/*/*

"ONE! TWO! THREEEE!

On the last count, the EMT's hefted the gurney off the ground and then the younger woman yelled, "ALL RIGHT MAKE A HOLE PEOPLE!" and Hotch jumped back to the wall. Seeing that Emily was still hovering over Derek's motionless body, he leaned forward to loop his arm around her waist before yanking her back to his chest.

Her fingers immediately hooked around his.

"Hotch . . ."

The words were a whimper that only he could hear. And he knew what she wanted him to say, that Derek was stable now, that his wounds weren't that bad.

That once he got to the hospital that everything would be fine.

But unfortunately those were lies far beyond Hotch's capability at the moment. Morgan had crashed twice since the paramedics had arrived. He wasn't stable at all but obviously they couldn't stay out in the hallway with him indefinitely. He had just been determined to finally be stable enough to _move._

That was it.

And his injuries were so severe that they didn't even want to try to handle them locally. So MedFlight had just landed to take him directly up to Shock Trauma in Baltimore. From what Hotch had heard the paramedics muttering to each other . . . it was Morgan's only hope.

Actually by their estimation . . . Hotch rubbed Emily's stomach as the EMT hung another bag of fluid . . . they thought it was a miracle that Morgan was still alive at all. So far his heart had stopped twice and, not counting the bag they'd just hung, they'd given him three liters of fluid to replace the same amount they'd estimated had been lost. Not to mention the holes in his vital organs hadn't even been patched yet so Hotch was preparing himself for the worst. Though he honestly wasn't sure what the worst would be. Just having Morgan die would be terrible enough, but there was also the horrible prospect of losing him by pieces. That femoral wound was bad. Very bad. After the second crash they'd had to tie his leg off completely just to stop the bleeding. But Hotch knew that if the tourniquet was on for too long that the flesh would grow necrotic.

Derek would lose the limb.

And then there was the other worry, if there wasn't enough blood in his body to keep pumping everywhere it needed to go, would his brain get enough oxygen? An amputated leg Morgan might eventually comes to terms with . . . maybe . . . but what if he lost faculties too? What if the damage was only slight, slight enough that Derek could remember what he was like before, what kind of agony would that be for him?

For all of them.

Hotch's eyes began to burn as he watched the gurney cutting a swath through the law enforcement crowding the hallway . . . questions without answers. Or questions with answers he didn't want to hear. He knew that he needed to let them go for now. He needed to go back to the simplest rule.

One thing at a time.

The chopper had just landed at the main intersection on the corner. They'd have Derek loaded up and on his way in a matter of minutes. And Hotch knew had both a trauma surgeon and a nurse on board the flight, so Derek's medical attention would suffer no further delays.

As the gurney disappeared into the front alcove, Hotch heard another faint whimper escape Emily's lips. This time there was no words . . . just a sound.

It was like a wounded animal.

And he knew that she wanted to go after Derek now, to stay with him . . . Hotch did as well . . . but he also knew that there was nothing they could do for him at the moment but get in the way. They were too personally involved, they'd be a distraction to the medical staff. Besides, when Durant had arrived a few minutes ago, he'd assigned a proper police escort to stay with Morgan until the FBI could take over up in Baltimore. And with those two extra bodies jammed into the chopper, there was no room for Hotch and Emily to go with him now anyway.

If he survived the flight, they'd see him when he was out of surgery.

And though Hotch knew that Emily was as aware of these facts as he was, he also knew that she needed some reassurance right now as to why they couldn't stay with their friend. So he ignored the crowd of people around them as he pressed his lips to her ear and whispered the words that he thought she needed to hear. The ones that wouldn't be a lie.

"We'll see him soon," he murmured, "Rossi's on his way. We just need to change and then we'll go as soon as he gets here."

Ordinarily Dave lived thirty minutes away, but Hotch knew that with him breaking every speed limit in two counties he was most likely making the drive in half that time. So they just needed to be ready to go as soon as he arrived.

At the moment they were both essentially still just in their underwear.

While they were working on Morgan, Hotch had noticed the stares being directed at Emily by a couple of the less professional officers. They were highly inappropriate . . . and had royally pissed him off . . . but he couldn't deny that even under the circumstances, it was hard to ignore a half naked woman standing out in the hall. Especially one with a body like Emily's.

Fortunately Emily herself had been so focused on Morgan's condition that she was fairly oblivious to her state of undress and the reactions it was eliciting. If she had seen any of the looks she most likely would have read someone the riot act. That had been Hotch's immediate inclination as well. But before that had happened he'd taken ten seconds to pull her into the apartment. There was no time to go get dressed . . . she was fighting him just about leaving the hall . . . but he was able to grab an afghan off the couch for her to cover up with. That had helped immensely, but regardless of the blanket now masking most of her curves, they still weren't dressed to leave the house.

They needed to put on real clothes.

Emily closed her eyes for a moment as she heard Hotch's soft words floating into her ear. Though her heart was aching with fear and grief about what was going to happen to Derek, she couldn't deny that Hotch's continuing ability to read her mind was providing her a small degree of comfort that she wouldn't have had otherwise. This was the man that had been getting her through the hell of the last forty-eight hours. And this man . . . her fingers squeezed the hand still resting on her stomach . . . was what she needed to hold onto tonight. Tonight when everything was going to shit again.

But she also knew that this time, unlike with Kelly, Hotch was personally hurting too. He loved Morgan as much as she did. So she needed to be careful not to take more than he was capable of giving.

She needed to try and be strong for him.

So she nodded and whispered back, "right, we need to get dressed," and she turned, stepping over the threshold just ahead of him.

Except for the few seconds that they'd been in the living room while Hotch grabbed her a blanket, they hadn't been back inside the apartment since they'd heard the final knock on the door. Though that seemed like it had been hours ago, intellectually Emily knew it had been less than twenty minutes.

Possibly even fifteen.

It hardly seemed possible that your world can fall to pieces in such a small amount of time. But this was the second time this week that her life had spiraled out of control in a matter of minutes.

She was sick of it.

And as they moved through the living room, she saw the crime scene technicians unpacking their equipment over in the corner. A shudder passed through her body as she realized what they were doing . . . getting ready to look for those cameras that she was terrified that Lipsky had installed.

Then Hotch whispered in her ear. "It's just a precaution Emily. I'm sure he didn't get in here." And hearing that unsolicited reassurance from him, she felt hot tears prick her eyes.

Again, he knew exactly what she was thinking, and again . . . he knew exactly what to say. She wondered how long they had been this in tune, was it a recent development? One or was it just one more thing that had been shimmering behind the walls that they had built up between them? But now those walls were crumbling down like a wave was beating against them, so she leaned a little further into his side as she murmured back, "you're right, I know it's unlikely that he got in here."

And she did, she did know that . . . but she felt better for him saying it too.

Their steps slowed briefly when they saw Durant standing half in the kitchen talking on his cell phone. He yelled out "possible sighting two blocks away," and Emily nodded in response . . . she saw that Hotch did as well . . . but they kept moving towards the hall. It wasn't their job to catch the bastard. Tonight it was just their job to worry about their friend. So Emily ignored the other officers doing these terribly invasive things in Hotch's home that two days earlier had been done in her own. Instead she remained focused on the most mundane task in the world . . . simply putting on her clothes.

At the moment it was all she could handle.

First though, before they went down to the bedroom, Hotch guided her into the bathroom so he could wash Morgan's blood from his hands. Emily could see that the crimson coating was so thick that it still hadn't dried even with all the minutes that had passed. Too many minutes.

Too much blood.

And trying to avoid thinking about those facts meant for Derek's prognosis, Emily attempted to keep her mind occupied with other things while Hotch cleaned up. First she slipped off the afghan and dropped it into the laundry bin . . . Hotch had gotten blood on it when he was holding her . . . and then she skimmed her fingers through her hair and pulled it back and up. Once she had fastened a loose bun . . . she wasn't in the mood for her usual work pony tail . . . Emily's gaze dropped back down to see Hotch still scrubbing under his fingernails. Her eyes began to tear up again.

There was pink sudsy water swirling down the drain.

It was a foolish thought, but all she could think was that Morgan needed that blood and here Hotch was washing it away.

A slightly hysterical sob rose up in Emily's chest but she caught it as a gasp. Not that that meant she caught it silently.

There was no hiding it from Hotch. And as soon as the sound escaped, his eyes snapped to hers in the mirror. Her upper teeth dug into her lower lip, and though the words weren't voiced aloud she knew that Hotch knew what she was saying all the same. Help me.

Save me.

And she saw his expression soften as he turned off the water. Then he dried his hands on the small blue towel lying on the sink before he turned to pull her into a tight embrace. He didn't say anything as he held her, but he didn't have to.

The hug was enough.

When he leaned back he kissed her forehead and then reached over to pick up their guns from the vanity. She took hers from his hand, and then . . . keeping her body close to his . . . Hotch opened the bathroom door and led her across the hall to the guest room. There they stopped as she dug out her underwear and a pair of jeans . . . she wanted to keep on Hotch's shirt . . . and then she stooped down to check and see if Daisy was still hiding under the bed.

Yes.

That's where she'd been when Emily left the room a few hours earlier, and fortunately all the noise out in the hall had kept her from wandering anywhere else. Knowing that they needed to retrieve Daisy's new carrier from the living room before they left, Emily decided to leave her where she was for the time being. So she just brushed her fingers through the soft fur and murmured, "good girl," before she pushed herself back to her feet.

When she looked over at Hotch she saw him staring at her . . . but he said nothing. He just gave her a sad smile and then leaned down to pick up her boots and socks from off the floor. Though it hadn't been discussed aloud, it was understood that she was getting dressed in his room.

They weren't separating again tonight.

Once they had everything she needed, Hotch tipped his head towards the hall. After they stepped over the threshold Emily turned back, making sure to pull the door shut tight. Then she turned and told the CSU officer running his fingers along the wall that nobody was allowed to go into that room until she had cleared it. Though she wasn't wearing a bra or pants, Emily said it in her 'don't fuck with me' tone, so as she expected, the man immediately nodded his acquiescence to her instructions.

Attitude was everything.

Once that was done, Hotch gestured for her to step into his bedroom ahead of him. After they were both back inside his small fortress, he slammed the door shut and locked it.

Compared to the noise they'd been dealing with for the last twenty minutes, the sudden silence was deafening. And Emily began to blink rapidly as that nothingness slowly began to close in on her. Now that they were alone again her emotions were starting to unravel. There was only one thing that she wanted to do.

Weep.

But . . . she took a deep breath . . . her wants at that moment were utterly irrelevant. What mattered was getting to Morgan, and tears would do nothing but slow her down. Not to mention as Hotch had just reminded her, Dave would be there any minute and she didn't want him to find her sobbing hysterically like she was some . . . her brow furrowed slightly . . . civilian.

Just because Hotch could now see her tears didn't mean that anybody else could.

So Emily reminded herself that she had to keep it together until later. Later tonight or early in the morning, whenever they were huddled up alone again. If she still wanted to cry then, well then it would be okay. And as Hotch turned to look at her, she took another breath. For a second she thought that he was going to give her a pep talk, to tell her that Morgan was going to be fine, and not to worry.

They would have been lies, but still she would have appreciated them all the same.

But instead . . . to her surprise . . . he suddenly dropped her boots to the floor and pulled her into a searing kiss. As his fingers wound through her hair and he plunged the depths of her mouth, the passion was unmistakable, but there was also tenderness . . . and just a hint of desperation. And in that brief, stolen moment Emily felt only one emotion coursing through her body.

Love.

She loved him. Big L all the way. And when he pulled away from her, the tears that she'd been pushing away only moments before began to fill her eyes again. As she stared up at him breathlessly she could see that there was something that he wanted to say . . . perhaps to explain why he'd done what he just had . . . but as was usually the case with Hotch . . . the words went unsaid. The man was the archetype for the term, 'strong, silent type.' Then his hand came up to graze her cheek as he whispered. "We need to hurry."

And the moment was gone. He moved passed her to his dresser and started opening drawers.

She watched him go, wanting to pull him back, but knowing that they had no time for this now. Then there was a burst of police radio chatter right outside the door and she jumped.

Morgan.

His name bounced back into her forebrain . . . and with that she dropped down and began to pick up her clothes from where they'd fallen when Hotch had grabbed her.

'_They would deal with all this later.'_

/*/*/*/*

As Hotch shoved his backup piece into his ankle holster his brain was spinning with everything that happened. And then his jaw started twitching again. As he had in the hallway while the paramedics worked on Derek's body, he was considering what had happened tonight from a tactical perspective. And he kept coming back to the same conclusion.

The whole fucking situation made no sense.

Why would Lipsky come here? It was insane. Like he thought he was just going to waltz in and take Emily out with him again? Though it terrified him to admit it, that's very nearly what had happened. Nobody had seen it coming. The simple brazenness of the attack had worked.

Though God knows how.

Really, how could _one_ man take out three armed law enforcement agents and then just disappear again? They had put up roadblocks and the building was locked down until SWAT arrived to do a room by room, but so far there was just no sign of him anywhere. And Hotch knew in his soul that he was gone. It was like he was a ghost or something.

A little whisper of a thought suddenly shot across Hotch's brain and he stopped lacing his shoe to try to focus.

_A ghost . . . a ghost . . . a ghost . . . a ghost . . . a ghost . . ._

The words kept rolling around in his brain but he couldn't figure out why they might be significant. _'Maybe they aren't significant,'_ a little voice in his head whispered, _'maybe you're just grasping at straws._' Maybe . . . he scowled as he went back to tying off his knot . . . maybe he was. But maybe that's all he had to grasp at right now. Maybe he was completely pissed off and feeling utterly useless as both a man and an agent.

He couldn't remember the last time a _solved_ case, one where they already knew the perpetrator going in, had caused him this much stress! But of course . . . his gaze snapped across the room to see Emily zipping up her jeans . . . this was the first time that he'd had a case that was so very personal. What was he going to do if he failed her?

'That's easy,' a voice in his head barked, 'just don't fail!'Right . . . Hotch huffed out a disgusted breath as he stood up . . . just don't fail.

Easier said than done.

"Are you almost ready?"

Given that Emily was fully dressed, Hotch had intended the question to simply be rhetorical . . . a way of moving them towards the door. But unfortunately given his underlying stress, his tone of voice came out much sharper than he had intended. She jumped.

Jumped and then froze.

Seeing her reaction, Hotch felt an immediate stab of guilt for frightening her. But as he opened his mouth to say that he was sorry, she jerked her head down sharply.

"One second."

Her voice was husky, and then she dropped down to the carpet and began pulling on her socks. For a second he stared, the words of apology still sitting on the tip of his tongue. Then his jaw snapped shut and he turned his attention back to pulling on his black fleece. He'd lost his moment. If he said it now he'd just be making a bigger issue out of a smaller one.

And right now . . . he zipped up his jacket . . . they had more than enough issues to go around. So he tucked his badge and ID into his jeans pocket, and then his Glock into his holster, and when he looked back over at Emily a few seconds later he could see that she too had finished getting dressed. All she needed were her badge and gun.

They were lying on his dresser.

He was about to pick them up to go hand to her when he noticed that something seemed off and his brow wrinkled. She was standing motionless and staring down at the floor.

Her whole body was shaking.

"Emily?" He asked worriedly as he started across the room, "are you all right?"

"Don't," Emily shot back as her head whipped violently, "_don't_ be nice to me," her voice began to thicken, "if you're nice to me I'm going to lose it."

Just telling her body that the breakdown had to wait until later wasn't the same as her body listening to her. And as Emily had been pulling on her own jeans she'd suddenly flashed on them cutting off Morgan's.

They'd been soaked in blood.

And that image had been enough to knock her into a tailspin. But she just needed a minute and then she'd be fine. Then she'd have her shit back together again. And though Emily thought her instructions to Hotch were quite explicit . . . stay away . . . he was obviously paying her words no attention. Damn it. And when he stopped in front of her, his hands fell to her shoulders and her body immediately stiffened again.

Then her eyes fell shut.

"Aaron, please," she pleaded through clenched teeth, "please don't do this. Please go away. We need to get to the hospital and we can't get to the hospital if I start sobbing like I did this morning."

Sobbing was definitely about to commence. Especially given that Hotch seemed to have just gone deaf. He still wasn't moving away from her. In fact . . . her breath caught . . . he was now running his hands slowly down her arms.

He was going to be the death of her.

"Aaron," Emily started to sniffle as her hand came up to wipe away the moisture from the corner of her eye, "I'm serious, I want to be alone for a second." And she tried to pull away from him, but Hotch wasn't having it and he caught her hand as it fell.

Their gazes locked just as their fingers did.

Looking up, Emily could see that his expression was gentle and warm . . . loving. It took only a second of staring into that obsidian abyss before Emily's own eyes began to pool and the sobs began to bubble up.

"What if Derek dies? What if he dies just because he knows me? How am I going to live with that? That's already what happened to Kelly. And then those poor deputies," the tears started to spill down Emily's cheeks, "we know that they're dead now too. And we know that they're dead because they got stuck babysitting me," she took a shuddering breath, "God Hotch, how many more people in my life are going to die before this is over?"

The last word Emily uttered came out as a guttural sob. And as she had been doing every time her emotions started to get away from her those last few days, she immediately jammed her fist into her mouth. It was all that she could do in that moment . . . that moment when she felt like she was going to go mad.

It was going to be a short trip.

That's why she'd wanted Hotch to walk away. His touch tapped into all those parts of herself that she was trying to keep walled off.

And now . . . she sniffled again . . . those walls were falling down.

Hotch's heart was aching as he saw the tears running down Emily's face. And though he knew that she'd prefer to deal with this breakdown on her own . . . on this point he couldn't adhere to her wishes. They'd passed the point where he was capable of leaving her to fend for herself. They'd passed a lot of points tonight . . . all were marked no return. So he pulled Emily to his chest and he held her tight . . . and then he began whispering in her ear.

"Emily, your meeting Lipsky was a chance of fate. That was the one part of all this that was beyond anyone's control. If it wasn't you then it would have been someone else. And everything that's happened since then," he rubbed his hand down her back, "including what happened to Morgan tonight, you know that's still all on Lipsky alone. It's just what happened, and Derek knows it too. And you know," he rubbed her back, "that when he wakes up he's going to give you hell if he finds out that you've been blaming yourself for his attack, right? Right?"

It took a second, but then Hotch felt Emily nod against his chest.

"Right," she whispered against his jacket, "he'd be pissed."

"Exactly," Hotch sighed, "he'd be pissed. So we're not going to tell him about this, we're not going to tell anyone," he reached over to pick up Emily's Glock from the dresser, "instead we're just going to go out to the living room and wait for Dave, okay?"

When Emily leaned back and wiped her eyes, Hotch could see the conflicted emotions of shame and guilt on her face. He knew that she was upset that she'd broken down, that somehow that made her look weak. And he wished that he could take that feeling from her, to find a way for her to see herself as he always saw her.

As capable and strong.

But if the last few days had reminded him anything, it was how hard it was to be in a relationship again. Not just what he needed to extend of himself . . . which was so difficult . . . but also the other pieces of it. Watching that person he cared so much about be in pain, and for him to be unable to fix what was broken. At least when Jack was the only person in his life, the issues to fix were small. But Emily's problems were big. Bigger than both of them.

And Hotch didn't know what to do for her.

He watched though as her fingers closed around the Glock he was holding in his hand. When she took it from him, she also took a deep breath, and with those two actions . . . he saw her mask fell down again. Though her eyes were still slightly moist, as she tucked the pistol into her holster her body language instantly changed. She was again outwardly projecting that underlying strength and courage that he always saw in her.

The stoic hard ass who could take on the world.

It was the part of her that he'd first noticed . . . the part of her that he'd first begun to fall for all those months ago. And when she looked up at him right before she whispered a soft, "I'm good now," he couldn't stop himself from leaning down to give her a quick kiss. When he pulled back a sad smile ghosted over his lips as his thumb traced gently along her jaw.

"That's my girl," he said softly. And then he turned, stepping a few feet away to pick up their cell phones from his bedside table.

Emily watched Hotch turn away. Though he seemed oblivious to what he had just said, she was not. And for a second her breath caught . . . he'd called her his girl. Two hours ago all she'd wanted from him was some sign of genuine attachment, that he might possibly be in this relationship for the long haul . . . and here she had it.

He saw her as his girl.

And Hotch was not given to colloquial expressions like most people were. You would not hear a "honey" or a "baby" pass his lips in mixed company. Or any company really. So a possessive like that from him was . . . it was huge. She felt a well of grief rise up . . . and this was so not the time to be thinking about such things! Again her moments of grief and happiness were twined together. And she started to worry that when she looked back, was all she would remember about these early days in their relationship was the sadness.

That everything between them would always be tainted with grief.

So for her it was a moment of bittersweet joy. And the more that she thought about it, the more the sweet of the moment was pushed aside for the bitter. She couldn't take another body dump like she'd experienced tonight. What if the next one was Spencer . . . or JJ?

Or her mother?

Her heart wasn't going to be able to take this horror again . . . her jaw clenched . . . she needed to do something to end this. It was a decision that she was making for what Lipsky had done to Kelly and Morgan. But it was also a decision that she was making for herself, for what he had done to her. For breaking into her bedroom and violating her space and her sense of self. For spilling Kelly's blood in _her_ home.

For spilling Morgan's blood in Hotch's.

Her eyes burned . . . that bastard! Hotch was right . . . Emily blinked away the tears as he turned back around with her phone in hand . . . this _wasn't_ her fault. This was ALL Lipsky. Yes, she would always feel guilt about not telling Hotch what was happening before everything started to unravel . . . and that guilt was going to be a constant . . . but she didn't start any of this. And there was no doubt now in her mind . . . and she was sure in Hotch's as well . . . that Lipsky was going to keep trying to get to her. The roadblocks, the security details . . . their badges and guns, none of it was slowing him down.

He was going to keep coming.

Last night that thought had terrified her, but now . . . not so much. Yes, she was scared for Morgan, and still terrified that somebody else she loved would get hurt . . . Hotch in particular was her biggest concern there, if a bullet came flying he was going to step in front of it . . . but overall now she had less fear for herself. For her own safety. She was almost looking forward to Lipsky's next advance.

She wanted him to try again.

Because the next time he came knocking she wasn't going to stand on the other side of the door like a frightened child. No . . . her eyes dropped to the carpet as she took her cell from Hotch . . . she was going through the door through guns blazing. If he tried to run he was getting a bullet in the spine. If he tried to pin her down she was gouging his eyes out with her fingernails, and if he tried to rape her . . . . . . her stomach churned at the thought . . . she was ripping his throat out with her teeth. Any physical confrontation between them would end in a bloodbath.

His.

Of course these were horrible acts to contemplate perpetrating against another human being. These were the horrible acts that sane people don't consider themselves capable of committing against anyone until they've been pushed to the very edge.

Well she'd been pushed.

Over the last few days she'd been pushed and shoved and kicked, and then when she'd seen Morgan's ravaged body tossed out in the hall like a bag of trash . . . she'd gone flying over that edge. Morgan had been gutted and dumped just like Kelly . . . Emily took a deep breath . . . Lipsky was treating the people in her life like they were his play things.

Pawns on a chessboard to be sacrificed at his whim.

Well fuck him . . . a wave of fury filled her . . . and fuck his obsession with her! At his core he was just another creep in a bar that didn't know how to take "no" for answer! But if she had her way he would definitely learn the meaning of that word by the time this was said and done. "Dear God no, please stop!" was hopefully going to become a new phrase in his vocabulary.

A phrase that she would be happy to teach him from the end of the barrel of her gun.

All of these bloody . . . ugly . . . thoughts were running through Emily's brain, but when she looked up at Hotch again, she hid them all. It wouldn't do for him to know that she had thoughts of vengeance on her mind. He would only worry even more than he was already. And it wasn't as though she was going to go off and do anything foolish. She wasn't going to shake off her new security blanket . . . she needed Hotch too much now to even consider it. She was just going to play the hand that had already been dealt. Play the hand and win the game.

That was the goal.

So when Hotch slipped her fingers into his and squeezed them, a tight smile touched her lips. Then she leaned up to whisper in his ear.

"I'm ready to go now."

* * *

_A/N 2: Not sure if anyone's figured out yet what it is, but as Dave said there clearly is something else going on here beyond the obvious. The title of the chapter, that was my own little spin again on Poe. The last one was inspired by the Raven, and this one, the first part was also a stanza from that poem, but 'the fog of war' was the spin part. It was just a bonus that they rhymed :) The fog of war of course being when you're under attack and making decisions perhaps without all of the information that you would like to have. That sometimes what appears to be going on is not always exactly what is going on. And I have been trying to drop some little hints for you as to what it is that MIGHT be going on ;) Either way, all shall be revealed soon enough. Though not next time. Next chapter will take us to the hospital. And I actually ended up cutting this chapter short so part of the next one is written. Yay! So again, this is the planned last chapter for 2010, but if I really do get to post all the other items I have in the wings then I'll try to go back to this again._

_I didn't see Fracture Hotch having the "sweetheart" ah hah moment that some other versions of Hotch have when he's falling down the rabbit hole. This version is still too reserved. But I could see him slipping up with a possessive pronoun that he wouldn't even notice himself._

_And I figured Emily here, that what happened to Morgan was going to push her right over the edge. How could it not? This was the second person in her life that had been attacked because of her. But I didn't want it to be a damsely Emily that becomes a total basket case and completely dependent on Hotch. I saw it more as her reaching the "I'm done with his shit," Emily instead. Once you make making a conscious decision to take control of your life then you start to feel less like a victim. She's still stressed and terrified and grieving, but now she has a plan. It might not be the wisest plan in the world, but it's better than just being frightened all the time. _

_Otherwise, things on the agenda for the next plus sized week, a Christmas chapter for The Hours, the final chapter of LAST year's Christmas story, Making Spirits Bright, a spinoff from Girl involving Emily babysitting a sick Jack (that's from the new "malady" bonus that just went up), the next Everything Happens for a Reason, the very last chapter of The Gingerbread Girl and one surprise that I don't want to mention just yet. I know, that's a super full plate, but these mostly all have solid drafts in place that just need polishing up. Ah, 7 postings in 10 days, that would be a Festivus miracle now wouldn't it? :) Speaking of, Happy Festivus everyone! Hoping to be back once more on Christmas Day with something actually Christmas themed. Whacky! As always, thanks for the feedback. I've not been able to write to anybody lately (and I do miss talking to people) but I'm going to try to catch up on my "correspondence" next week too :)_


	12. The Dead Of Night

**Author's Note: **I'm always shocked to see how long it's been since I've been here. Christmas! Unbelievable. Though I can't help how the weeks do seem to just slip away, I promise that I will make a _concerted_ effort to avoid hitting that lengthy a posting gap again.

I don't know if it's ever been established what Garcia's religion is (if she has one she practices) but I've decided that in this world (as in Girl) that she's either Catholic, or was at least exposed to Church tenets at some point in her formative years. Not sure why that's how I see her, but it is. And if that is because she once flat out said "Hey guys, I'm Catholic!" then please do feel free to point that out to me so I can know I'm an idiot :)

**Twitter Account: ffsienna27 – For story announcements, etc. If the alerts . . . or the site . . . are down, this is a backup to find out what's going on for postings.**

So, guessing you go catch up from the last chapter, this picks up later in the night. Or very early the next morning really. Opening w/Emily.

* * *

**TV Prompt Set #22 (September 2010)**

Show: Chicago Hope

Title Challenge: Faith, Hope & Surgery

* * *

**The Dead of Night**

Emily's gritty eyes dropped down to her feet to see Daisy sleeping in her little canvas bag, half tucked under the visitor's chair that Emily was sitting in. Somewhat envious of the apparently peaceful slumber of her little feline, Emily bit her lip as she sat back in the chair.

There would be no peaceful slumber for her for quite some time.

With a sigh, she looked over to see Spencer and Kevin slouched in the seats across from her. It was clear that they were both half asleep . . . and it was also clear that they were both trying to pretend like they weren't.

Their eyes kept popping open as they jerked in their chairs.

And Emily knew that they were doing this because they felt if Dave and Hotch could still be going strong at four plus am . . . now that Derek's surgery was over they were off inserting themselves where they weren't wanted, into the actual investigation . . . then the younger men felt that they too should be wide awake and "doing things."

That was bullshit.

Everybody functioned through crises in their own ways. And Hotch and Dave . . . cut from very different Y chromosomes than Kevin and Spencer . . . needed to be "doing things" simply to keep their sanity intact. And Emily wanted to tell the other two that it was okay, that it wasn't a reflection on them personally or their manhood. And that they should rest now because staying awake for the whole night wasn't going to do anything for . . . or prove anything _to _. . . anyone else. And that in fact, it would actually be better if they were fresh to help with whatever was needed come the morning.

She wanted to say these things.

But it wasn't her place to say anything.

After everything that she'd done wrong the last few weeks, Emily had lost her right to tell anyone else how to live their life. So with a shake of her head at their stubbornness, her gaze shifted up from the boys who were trying to be men, and down to the end of the small hospital waiting area that had been set up specifically for their group. JJ was on one of the battered leather couches curled up next to her husband.

He was holding her hand . . . she was weeping against his shoulder.

It was quiet, dignified weeping, but still . . . hearing it for the last twenty minutes . . . since Hotch and Dave had left the group . . . was driving Emily mad. But she knew that she couldn't say anything to her friend. Not just on the principle of what a schmuck thing it would be to do, but also, it would be incredibly hypocritical. Emily had certainly shed more than her share of tears that night. And just because hers had been in small private intervals with Hotch, and JJ's were openly in public with Will, there was no difference in their expression of grief.

The only difference was that now it was JJ's turn.

Still though, as Emily stifled another yawn . . . she'd lost count how many at this point . . . she checked her watch and saw that it was closing in on 4:30 in the morning. And she knew then that she couldn't take any more quiet weeping from anyone.

Herself included.

"I'm going to stretch my legs," she said softly as she stood, picking up the cat carrier as she came to her feet.

"Can you please keep an eye on Daisy for me?"

The words were directed to the couple on the couch. And the question was rhetorical . . . per Hotch's orders, nobody was going anywhere. So as expected, JJ nodded as she sniffled and wiped her hand under her nose.

"Of course," she patted Will's leg, "we'll be here."

With a murmured, "thanks," Emily walked over and placed Daisy down on the floor next to Henry . . . also sound asleep in his own personal carrier . . . and turned away, scrubbing her hands down her face.

'_Christ almighty, I need some air.'_

Of course she couldn't go outside, so there would be no air to get. But still that was the thought in her head as she stepped out of their private alcove and out into the open hospital corridor of the Shock Trauma Center. The corridor . . . the floor . . . that had been cleared of all other patients and then swept by an FBI SWAT team before it was commandeered as a secondary command center and staging area for what was presently the biggest active manhunt in the country.

They were on full lockdown.

Nobody got in or out except necessary law enforcement . . . mostly federal, Morgan's attack on the heels of Kelly's murder had ratcheted up the FBI Director's personal interest in the case . . . and authorized medical personnel . . . mostly surgical, it had taken a small army of trauma surgeons and nurses to keep Morgan alive this long. And even those people were going through a vigorous verification of their identifies . . . cross checking their names, badges and credentials against all online photo databases . . . before they were allowed to step past the checkpoint by the elevator. Anyone who so much as raised an eyebrow at the delay was to be arrested on sight.

Hotch's orders.

Though he wasn't in charge of the murder investigation or the attack . . . still technically they were considered local matters . . . a few hours ago the Director had tasked Hotch with "official" coordination of the FBI cooperation with both the LEOs, and the U.S. Marshalls. The Marshalls having been pulled in at midnight not only as backup for the teams' . . . and their families . . . FBI security details, but also to assist with the cross jurisdictional elements of the manhunt for Lipsky.

There was a lot of ground to cover.

And as Emily paused to sneak a glance at her new (fairly significant) other, holding court with Dave and a group of Marshalls' down by the nurse's station, she could see that his jaw was clenched and his posture was rigid.

He looked about ready to strike someone.

But of course . . . a wave of sadness washed over her as she turned away . . . it had been a hellish night on top of a hellish few days. The five, white knuckle clenching hours waiting for Derek's surgery to end had been emotionally draining for everyone though.

Not to mention it was also physical exhausting as well, as it had been (yet another) night with no sleep. And she and Hotch personally were now on their third day without proper rest.

They couldn't keep up this routine much longer.

'_Not that they had control over any of this shit of course_,' she thought bitterly. Again, they weren't in charge of the investigation so they were stuck simply being reactive to each horrendous new curve that was thrown at them. And tonight all they'd been able to do was just sit and wait to find out if Derek was going to live or die.

It was . . . she scrubbed her hand over her mouth . . . well, horrible didn't even cover it.

Initially the hospital vigil was just Emily, Hotch and Dave. Fortunately with Dave's lead foot . . . and the flashing red light he'd jammed in the front window . . . the three of them had arrived in Baltimore only thirty minutes after Derek had been rushed into surgery.

After the first hour of pacing, enough time had passed . . . and enough roadblocks had been thrown up . . . that Hotch and Dave decided that it was safe to move the rest of the team out of their homes and up to the hospital as well.

Of course they all traveled with not only their significant others . . . hence Kevin and Will's presence . . . but also their shiny new security details. In fact the only people with a full detail that weren't at the hospital were Haley and Jack.

Though they were still considered an unlikely target, after the brazen attack at his apartment, Hotch had started to get antsy. So a few hours ago he'd called in a couple of favors and put three more agents on Haley's house. They were off duty volunteers. And that was on top of the _official_ detail that he'd already assigned the day before.

Basically nobody was getting anywhere near Hotch's son without a rocket launcher.

And Christ knows Lipsky might actually have one! But at this point everything that could reasonably be done to keep everyone safe, had been done. And after each of the team members had been moved to the hospital . . . every one of them anxious and worried wondering what was going on with Derek . . . Hotch had pulled them aside, sat them down and explained exactly how severe Derek's injuries were and precisely how much difficulty they'd had in stabilizing him pre-flight. Basically he was preparing them for the worst.

It was not a pleasant conversation to have, or to watch. Derek was an immortal. An immortal whose heart had stopped three times that night. An immortal who had been declared "legally" dead for twenty-seven seconds during his time on the operating table.

Truly, it was a miracle that they weren't sitting around planning his funeral.

Emily nervously chewed her lip as she continued down the hall . . . not yet anyway.

But his condition was bad enough as it was. As Emily had somewhat anticipated, JJ and Reid had both taken the news badly.

A little bit of crying from one, a little bit of quiet stammering from the other.

But JJ at least had Will with her . . . and the baby of course. So that was something. But then Reid decided to focus in again on looking after Daisy.

So that was something too.

But Garcia . . . Emily felt a knot forming in her stomach again as she thought back on their hours pacing the halls . . . she was completely shell shocked. Nobody could really do anything for her. And Kevin was doing his best to be supportive, but he wasn't trained in grief counseling . . . as the rest of them all were, and they'd been completely useless . . . nor was he a field agent. His unit's day to day work wasn't anywhere near as traumatizing as theirs was.

Hell, with the exception of the Crimes Against Children Unit, _nobody's_ day to day work was as traumatizing as theirs was! So poor Kevin was completely ill-equipped to process this level of horrific violence that had been brought so intimately into his world.

'_Too bad,_' Emily thought bitterly as her boots clicked along the tile floor, _'it would have made things easier for him._'

Maybe.

It's not like she was having an 'easy' time of it herself . . . Emily's steps slowed as she approached the ICU . . . there was no preparation for violence of this magnitude striking the people that she loved. It wasn't like work. There was no distance to be maintained from the blood that had been spilled.

It had splattered all over her.

At this point she was operating mostly in a bubble, no longer making any genuine effort at engagement in her surroundings. When the others tried to talk to her she drifted away. Yes, she knew that was awful, but she was just too tired. Really she didn't want to talk to anyone but Hotch because she was too afraid that if she became involved in a conversation . . . actually connected with one of the others in their own grief . . . that she was going to lose her shit again. That couldn't happen.

Hotch was the only one that was allowed to see her cry.

And given that they were only able to get a few minutes alone together each hour . . . she couldn't even hold his hand in the waiting room . . . the rest of the time she was just quiet. Just thinking.

Praying.

At some point she knew that she was going to have to try to catch a few hours of sleep. But after what had happened the last time she'd tried to go to bed, the prospect of closing her eyes for longer than a blink was not an appealing one. So she had no intention of even _attempting _to take a nap until she was sure that Hotch could lie down with her. And given that it was likely to raise some eyebrows if the two of them commandeered a private bed for themselves, she knew that it was unlikely that they'd be getting any rest for some hours.

So . . . knowing that it was time to suck it up . . . after another weary yawn she tried to hide with her palm, Emily nodded a hello to the agents watching the ICU door. She knew both of them well.

Hotch had picked people from the Unit for that assignment so he'd know they were above reproach.

Then she continued a little further down the hall to the observation area for the critical recovery unit. Present occupancy of the unit . . . one African American male.

After Emily had picked a spot to stand that was far enough from the two men on the door that they wouldn't try to speak to her, she leaned forward slightly to place her forehead on the glass wall of the ICU.

Through the transparency, she could see Penelope sitting in the visitor's chair that had been placed by Derek's bed. It was her shift with him. They were all planning on taking them . . . of course they'd given Garcia the first one . . . so someone would probably be along to relieve her shortly.

Emily stared intently at Morgan's motionless body, trying to maintain some emotional distance from the moment. Though that was a bit hard to do given his appearance. It was the second time that she'd seen him since he'd been wheeled out of the surgical suite at the end of the hall. And sadly he looked no better now than he had forty minutes ago. His color was terrible and he was covered in tubes and wires that were monitoring his vitals and feeding him fluids and oxygen.

Feeding him life.

Really, without that equipment hooked up to him . . . he would be dead. Full stop, end of sentence.

End of Derek.

Tears began to prick Emily's eyes as she considered that future, that empty chair across from hers . . . so much for emotional distance.

And then those tears began to pool as her gaze shifted back down to see Penelope bent over praying, working the small pink pebbles, on the set of cheap plastic rosary beads.

Dave had found them for her in the chapel.

And it pained Emily so much to see Garcia hunched over Derek's side that way. With tears running down her face. Because Emily knew that Penelope wasn't just working the beads for a simple prayer.

She was working them for a miracle.

They so _desperately_ needed one. Derek's blood loss had been severe, and the surgery touch and go. Again, he'd actually DIED for a brief time! So obviously that was very bad to say the least. Because with no heart pumping for the _fourth_ time that night, there had again been no blood flowing.

No oxygen flowing.

So though the surgery had carried him through the immediate crises . . . actually bleeding to death from the severed artery in his leg or the organ damage he'd suffered from the other stab wounds . . . the prognosis was still little better than grim.

The doctors said that _if_ Morgan recovered . . . that was their word, if . . . they were concerned about possible brain damage. But beyond that nightmarish scenario . . . the one where Derek Morgan was left a shadow of himself . . . there was also the situation with his leg.

Emily's stomach turned as she thought back on the surgeon's word.

Amputation.

That's what he'd said, and that's when her head . . . her world . . . had started to shift to grey. Because the fears about the brain damage, though they were real, Emily could convince herself that the doctors were just preparing them for the worst case scenario. Covering all bases.

Covering their asses.

But amputation . . . Emily's nails dug into her palm as Penelope began to rock and weep . . . that wasn't just covering their bases. That was a plan of action. A step they _intended _to take if things continued down the path that they were going.

And the path they were going down was pretty God damn terrible.

Oh Derek . . . one of Emily's own tears spilled over as her gaze shifted from Garcia sobbing, to their friend lying motionless in the pristine white bed. From this distance . . . if she ignored all the facts and figures and tubes and monitors . . . a person might actually convince herself that as he lay there in front of them, he was just sleeping.

That he was just resting from his surgery and ready to wake up any time.

And then everything would be okay.

That was bullshit though. Derek wasn't going to wake up any time soon. The trauma to his body had been too great. So now her friend was lying there unconscious. His spirit . . . another tear slipped down her cheek . . . everything that made Derek Morgan a great man, a great agent . . . everything that made him her friend . . . it was all locked away.

And she was terrified that there would be no key to bring him back.

Just then Garcia lifted her head, her tearful gaze shifting up from the beads in her hand, immediately locking onto Emily's similarly watery eyes. And even with the physical distance . . . even with the physical partition between them . . . Emily's skin burned. There was anger there.

Blame.

She hadn't actually come out and said the words yet . . . Garcia had nothing to her at all since her arrival, which was telling in and of itself . . . but Emily knew that the other woman thought that this was somehow her fault.

That she'd brought this fresh hell into their world.

Really though, this one wasn't her fault. At least she didn't think so. Still though, Emily chose to look away first, letting her eyes drop down to the white tile.

Penelope was hurting in a way that Emily wasn't and she saw no reason to make this harder for her. Of course Emily loved Derek too, but their relationship was different.

Her feelings for him were different.

Up until seven, eight months ago, Garcia had been fairly actively pining for Derek's affections. It wasn't until Kevin had come along . . . and made a genuine pursuit of her . . . that Penelope had finally begun to accept that things with Derek were never going to be more than they were. He loved her fiercely.

As a friend.

But all the rest of it, it was still very raw. Very much in the recent past. And really . . . Emily took a step away from the glass as she scrubbed away her tears . . . situations like this tended to dredge up a lot of things sometimes best left buried. That was the reason that Hotch was hiding some things from her that he had already disclosed to, not only the other members of the team, but also Kevin too.

And those were things about Derek.

The fact that there was evidence that . . . and this was a hard one for Emily to admit even to herself . . . on some level he might have brought this attack on himself.

At least partially.

And they knew because his laptop had been brought to the hospital and while JJ kept Garcia occupied, Hotch had Kevin pour over it. They were looking for a clue as to what Morgan been up to over the last sixteen hours. Trying to find out where he could have been when he'd been attacked. Because it was clear from the condition of his house . . . spotless . . . that it hadn't been there. The police had been all over his house and found no signs of a struggle there. And Christ knows a man like Derek Morgan wasn't going down without a vicious fight.

And also . . . as Emily had suspected when he'd left them at Hotch's apartment . . . there were no indications from his phone records that he'd had a date tonight either. So with no other leads they were left with the distasteful task of snooping through their friends' personal computer to figure out what had happened to him.

Initially what Kevin had found under recent activity seemed pretty routine. A lot of case notes from their current batch of referrals, an after action report from their trip to Little Rock the week before . . . and then he'd found something else. Something that had greatly concerned Emily when she'd seen it.

Google searches on Edward Eugene Lipsky.

And not just Google searches, it appeared that Derek had gone through every public search engine on the web, and every official database he had access to, trying to dig up information on Emily's stalker. There were notes on all of Lipsky's known addresses, all of his known contacts, and even a partial profile of his behavior to date.

Morgan had been conducting his own little investigation.

And if that was the case . . . Emily felt a little surge of her earlier anger rise up again . . . then he'd had NO business at all going after him alone! Especially after Hotch had expressly FORBIDDEN them from doing so! Hell even SHE wasn't looking for Lipsky! But that would be just like Morgan, doing his own thing . . . going off to play hero. And it would also explain why he had lied earlier about having a date.

To make sure that they didn't catch wind of his activities.

Well good job Derek . . . she thought as a sob rose up in her throat . . . _real_ good job! Look what happened to you! You didn't get the bad man this time.

This time the bad man got you.

Tears now spilling over again as she choked down another sob, Emily's grief stricken gaze snapped back to the motionless body on the bed.

Please God . . . she prayed desperately . . . _please_ don't let him die! Please let him live and be whole again! And then in a month when he's all better, when all that remains of this night are the physical scars . . . her jaw twitched . . . I can beat the crap of him for being so God damn STUPID!

Feeling her anger at both Derek's actions and his attack swirling together . . . and knowing that she had absolutely no appropriate outlet for those feelings, she just had to let them go . . . Emily took a ragged breath as she turned completely from the glass wall.

Enough of that.

Enough of the blame and the anger. It wasn't helping anything. In fact it was clouding her judgment. Making her think ill of one of her best friends. Yes, Derek did have a hero complex, and yes, he had a habit of not listening to Hotch . . . or anyone else . . . when he got a bug in his ear to do something. But that wasn't the only reason that he would have gone off on his own . . . she sniffled . . . mostly he would have done it because he loved her, and because he was worried. And because he wanted her to be safe.

And because he wanted to make it better.

And those were all fine, wonderful . . . _laudable_ . . . reasons to risk your life for another person. But . . . she took another breath as she shook her head . . . he was still a big, stupid, pain in the butt, dummy. And when he got all better . . . she started looking to the future . . . she was definitely going to give him a solid kick in the ass for doing what he had done. For scaring the shit out of everyone and nearly getting himself killed in the process. And as she thought to that future, she realized that it felt good to make plans for later.

Plans for when he was better.

But in the meantime she still had to deal with the reality of the now. And the reality of the now was that they had a very long . . . very dark . . . path to follow, before they could ever hope to reach that future. Because it was a future uncertain. One with too many variables to count.

Too many things that could go very, very wrong.

Emily stepped back, wiping her face with the back of one hand as the other hand fell to her gun. Once she was sure that the tears were cleaned up, Emily lifted her head, her gaze shifting past the two FBI agents trying not to look like they were taking note of her mini-breakdown, and then down the length of the corridor in front of her. She was looking for her new security blanket

She was looking for Hotch.

But as her teeth sunk into her lip, she could see that he and Dave were still conferring with the detectives and agents working Morgan's assault and the deputies' suspected murders. And though he was not running the show, Hotch was clearly doing most of the talking . . . he tended to be the center of attention anywhere they went . . . but still she could see that he kept shooting glances back over his shoulder.

Glances back to her.

Oh . . . she felt a little pang of need in her chest. Then she began to wonder if he'd been doing that the whole time. Or if he'd just noticed her wiping her face. And then she wondered if anybody else had noticed his attention to her.

And then she decided that she didn't care.

If at the end of this, their new relationship was outed to the others on the team . . . or even to the Bureau at large . . . well . . . Emily's expression softened as she curled her fingers slightly in a little wave . . . they'd deal with it. It would be bad . . . their eyes caught for a moment before he turned back to the group . . . but it certainly wouldn't be the worst thing to happen to her this month. She pictured Derek bleeding out on the hallway floor.

It wouldn't even rank in the top ten.

Feeling another wave of physical and emotional exhaustion wash over her, Emily turned away completely from the two men who were tugging her heart in different directions.

One breaking it, one filling it.

Then she walked a little further down the hall and over to one of the outer windows of the floor. Her hand came up to rub across her forehead as the stared out at the city skyline.

Baltimore.

She hadn't been up here since last summer. It was a trip to the Inner Harbor. A trip with Kelly actually. It had been her birthday the week before and because Emily had been away for the actual day . . . child abduction case in Ohio . . . they'd decided to make a whole weekend of it. They packed a couple bags, booked a hotel and then spent Saturday and Sunday just hanging out and acting like did when they were in their twenties. Back when they were young and life was good.

Back when Emily thought she could still make a difference in the world.

Those days were long past . . . the years at the BAU had killed what was left of the idealism of her youth . . . but still, that weekend had been a good one. They watched a concert at Harbor Place, saw the Orioles lose to the Angels, and ate way too many crab cakes. And then . . . Emily's lip quirked up as her memories overwhelmed her . . . they spent the rest of the night flirting and drinking with a table full of fresh faced Marines. They'd all been much, much too young for them. Really, it was a ridiculously . . . _embarrassingly_ . . . cougar'ish display. One that ordinarily Supervisory Special Agent Emily Prentiss of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, wouldn't have been caught dead engaging in. But for just that day . . . she didn't care.

She just wanted to have fun.

Her breath caught . . . God, would she have another day like that again? One where she was happy for no reason and did goofy things just for fun? Or was this nightmare she was living now going to be the event . . . the catalyst . . . for her transformation into someone new? Someone darker.

Someone more like Hotch.

Emily immediately felt a stab of guilt at the thought . . . like it was a betrayal. It wasn't that she didn't adore him as he was . . . because he was indeed a wonderful man. Kind and compassionate, sensitive and strong. And these past few days had proven how very sweet and loving he could be as well.

But he was other things too.

He was angry a lot. And he was sad and somber . . . always so somber. And he hardly ever smiled. And even when he did, it was never a big smile.

Never one that demonstrated an open happiness and joy with his life.

And she wondered if he ever did feel like smiling that way. If he ever was that happy. Or had the world around him truly become so dark and twisted, that whatever joy he felt now could only come in small doses?

God . . . Emily's eyes burned . . . how sad that would be if it were true. And someday . . . maybe someday soon . . . they would be close enough that she could ask him that question. But in the meantime, all she could think about was how she herself was being altered by her exposure to the evils of the world. Wondering if some day she too would discover that she could no longer smile.

And how terrifying that life would be.

"Em, uh, do you want some, um coffee or something?"

Though Spencer's words came soft and hesitantly, Emily still jumped slightly at his sudden appearance by her side. She'd been too lost in her own thoughts.

And she was still too lost to want to come back from them even then.

She didn't want to talk to him. She just wanted to go back and think about her life before. That happy day with Kelly. But it was hard to simply ignore a person who had asked you a direction question. And this was the fourth or fifth time since Reid's detail had brought him to the hospital that he'd come up to her alone, trying to initiate a conversation of some kind. And as with those other times, now he was nervously fumbling his words.

It was obvious that he didn't know what to say.

Of course she didn't either.

Still though, as she turned her head slightly to look at the man/boy beside her, Emily knew that she'd take Reid's nervous fumblings over Garcia's out and out hostility any day. But of course . . . Emily stared deep into Spencer's eyes . . . there was no guarantee that before this was over that they wouldn't both hate her just the same.

It would all depend on what happened to Derek.

"Coffee, Emily?" Reid repeated hesitantly as he shoved his hands into his pockets, "do you want one? Kevin and I are going down to the uh, nurses' break room. I could get you a snack or something."

Why was she staring at him like that?

"No," Emily's voice was soft as her head turned, her gaze drifting back to the glass, "no, thank you Spencer. I'm fine."

Yes, she knew that she should say something more to him, say something comforting. Ask how he was holding up, or if there was anything that _he_ needed . . . it wasn't all about her.

But she didn't.

She knew that after her little cry fest of a few moments ago, that if she tried to play 'big sister' for Reid, to pat his back and lie comfortingly as she told him that everything was going to be okay, and that Derek would be just fine, then she was going to lose it completely.

Again.

And even though she knew that she was being a selfish bitch, on this small point . . . trying to keep control of her own sanity until the sun came up . . . she felt that she was justified in being a selfish bitch. It's not like it was her default position. It was just today.

Just,_ now._

Still though, she could see him out of the corner of her eye, standing there. Waiting. Wanting her to say something else to him.

To say something kind to him.

Because . . . she flashed back on all of their months together, all of their bad days together . . . that was what she did. It's what she _always_ did. So it was what he expected from her. More. He wanted more.

And she had no more to give.

Emily's eyes started to burn.

"Hon," her voice was husky as she put her hands up to shoo him away, "_please,_ you're killing me right now. Just, go back and sit with the others for a bit longer okay? I'll be back over in a little while."

In front of her, Reid's reflection was clear in the glass . . . as was the flash of pain twisting his sweet face . . . and Emily knew that she'd hurt him with her words. With her dismissal. And for that she was sorry, but still, she didn't take it back. Because she was entitled to be a little bit selfish.

So he needed to go away.

And finally he seemed to understand that. And though it was her choice for him to go, still her heart cracked as she heard the murmur.

"I'm sorry for bothering you."

Then his reflection turned, and it started back towards the visitors' area. And in that moment Emily hated herself for making him go, but she hated herself more for the relief that she felt at his departure.

_God damn it._

The curse passed her lips as a fresh tear spilled over and ran down her cheek.

As she was angrily wiping it away, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in her heart, a warm hand pressed lightly against her back.

"Let's take a break."

Hotch.

For a moment she just stood there, thanking whatever god had just sent him over to her. Then she turned slightly, and the hand fell away . . . as did the warmth.

Her eyes fell shut.

"I really need some fresh air," she whispered to the body she could feel just inches from hers.

Of course she knew that this was not a request that Hotch could grant for her. It would probably be some days before she'd be allowed out in the world long enough to get more than a breath of oxygen.

"I know," Hotch said softly, "I'm sorry but you know that we can't." Then he tipped his head towards the end of the corridor away from the team. "Come on, let's just take five. I already told Dave we'd be in 406."

Though all of the patient rooms were empty, that was the room Hotch had picked as his own personal meeting space. There was nothing particularly special about it other than he had liked the distance. Just far enough from the group that he felt like he had complete privacy . . . that's where they'd pulled apart Derek's computer . . . but also equidistant from the guards posted on either end of that wing of the corridor.

Basically secure but private.

And that's what he needed for his time with Emily. That's where he'd been bringing her for five minute breaks every hour. And he could he could see that at the moment, she was on the verge of losing it again.

Emily slowly lifted her head, nodding slightly in concession as their eyes caught.

"Right . . . 406."

That room had been her safe haven since they'd arrived at the hospital. Just a few stolen minutes each hour that they had waited for Derek's surgery to finish. Hotch would take her down there and he would lock the door and pull her into his arms. And for just those few minutes . . . no more than five so they'd be right there when the surgeons' came out . . . Emily would attempt to ground herself again. It had been working.

It had been the only thing keeping her head on straight.

But there was no doubt . . . they began walking slowly down the hall . . . that if she didn't get some sleep soon that she was going to be back on the verge of becoming a regular basket case again. Never mind the emotional trauma of the night, and her fears and worries for Derek's short . . . and long term . . . recovery, just the simple physical stress from her exhaustion was breaking down her control again.

She tried to distract herself.

"Did his mother land yet?"

The jet had gone to pick her up a few hours ago. Ordinarily Hotch would have just stuck with a phone call, or just waited until they'd had better news to share before he'd even reached out. But Derek's condition was so bad that it would have been irresponsible to not have contacted his mother immediately.

If these were Derek's last hours on earth, Mrs. Morgan deserved the right to say goodbye to her son.

"Yes," Hotch responded softly as he curled his fingers into a fist, "not long ago. They're driving her in now."

He was not looking forward to that conversation. Just thinking about it made him feel slightly ill. And he could tell from the flash of discomfort on Emily's face, that she wasn't looking forward to seeing Derek's mother either.

Explanations would need to be given. The chain of events that had resulted in Derek's catastrophic injuries would need to be explained. And it was not implausible that Mrs. Morgan . . . as Penelope before her . . . might possibly feel that Emily held some culpability for that chain of events.

It was bullshit but . . . Hotch bit his lip . . . you did not argue with a grieving mother. And definitely not one that had already lost her husband in the line of duty.

As Emily suddenly swayed slightly into his space . . . her physical and emotional exhaustion pouring off of her . . . Hotch kept his hands curled at his sides. And as she straightened up and they continued walking down the hall, he moved another inch away from her. He was trying so hard to be good.

To be professional.

But still he wanted to reach out and touch her. To pull her to his side and tuck her under his arm. Then he'd press his lips to her temple and he'd tell her that he was right there with her . . . and that he wasn't going anywhere.

All of those things he wanted to do . . . he did none of them.

And he did none of them because as he shot a look back over his shoulder, he could see Rossi's eyes on him.

Boring a hole into him.

And for a moment Hotch stared back, feeling his stomach churning. Aaron Hotchner was not afraid of many things, but still he feared that judgment that he thought was coming soon. He feared that Dave . . . a man who had clearly sized up their new relationship with a lingering glance at Hotch's t-shirt on Emily's body . . . would say the words that Hotch felt were on the tip of his tongue. That he was making a fool of himself. Or worse . . . that he was taking advantage of his authority, and Emily's vulnerability.

He was afraid that Dave would tell him that what he was doing with her was wrong.

So Hotch was being careful . . . being very careful to watch all of his physical interactions with her in front of the others. Not that the others didn't know that they were taking time alone together. But he'd been checking on all of them individually. That was his job. And obviously Emily . . . being the focus of this psychopath and all of the horrors he'd committed thus far . . . had been under more stress than the others. Had suffered more trauma than the others.

It was only right that he show her a little more focused attention.

But still, he waited until he and Emily had stepped through the door and into 406 before he felt free to let his guard down. When she stopped a few feet inside the room, just short of the stripped hospital bed, he paused as he had already a half dozen times that night, turning back to lock them inside.

Then he followed Emily over to the bed, tentatively reaching out to run his hand down her arm.

"I saw you talking to Reid," he said softly, as his fingers curled around her wrist. "Are you all right?"

"No," Emily whispered back as she stared at the closed blinds across the small room, "no, I'm not. But there's nothing to be done about that." Her voice started to thicken, "I was unkind and selfish. I hurt him, and I was glad when he walked away."

For a moment there was silence, the only sound Emily's ragged breath, the only touch Hotch's loose grip on her soft skin. But then he took another step towards her and reached out to slip his other arm around her body, sliding it past her holster to rest his hand on her stomach.

His other hand then moved from her wrist to lock his arms at her waist. Then he pulled her back against his chest.

"What do you need me to do?" He murmured softly against her neck.

"I need you to fix everything. Make Derek okay," her voice cracked. "And make Garcia not hate me, make JJ stop crying, and make Spencer not sad."

The words were broken, the tears evident as her hands closed over his.

Hotch winced at her requests, squeezing her tightly as he pressed a kiss to her skin . . . she was breaking his heart. And he wanted to tell her that he would fix it all for her if he could. That he would do it not just for Derek and the team, but because he would do anything for her personally.

Anything to make her smile again.

That was something that he could no longer do freely. But she still could . . . and it brightened his dark soul to see it . . . so it would kill him if that ability was taken from her as it had been taken from him so many years ago.

But those were foolish promises. Declarations for things beyond his control.

So instead of saying empty words, Hotch said nothing. He just kissed her again. And as he felt her body shaking with grief and guilt and tears that she'd decided . . . for reasons that he didn't understand . . . just couldn't be shed, he simply kept his body wrapped around hers. She was clutched back against his chest, his chin resting on her shoulder and their hands bonded at her waist.

Their fingers were wound together so tightly that the pressure hurt.

But after a few minutes of her quaking, the silent grief began to pass. Her grip on his fingers loosened slightly, and then a minute after that she took his right hand off of hers, lifted it up . . . and pressed it to her lips.

"Thank you," she whispered against his palm.

And before he could say anything in response . . . to tell her that thank yous weren't necessary, that he did it because she needed him to and that was the end of that . . . she had turned around in his arms. His heart ached as he saw her eyes were bright and shining with the still unshed tears.

One hand slipped off her waist to rise up and cup her cheek.

Still though, he said nothing. He just waited to see what she needed him to do. And when she leaned up slightly, he leaned down . . . meeting her for the kiss. Her lips were slightly chapped and she tasted of the Tic Tacs he'd given her a few hours ago. And like all of their stolen kisses that night, this went on for too long . . . and yet not nearly long enough.

When she pulled away her breath was short and those slightly chapped lips were swollen and those tears that had been shining . . . they started to slip down her face. And all those words that he couldn't say . . . in that moment he would have promised her the world if only she would stop crying.

Fortunately he was prevented from making a colossally foolish declaration, by a knock on the door.

"Hotch? Em? Are you guys in there?"

JJ.

"Yes, JJ," he called back, keeping his voice even as the pads of his thumbs wiped the tears from Emily's skin.

"Uh," there was a pause, "they just radioed. Derek's mother's here. She's on her way up."

Feeling that pit in his stomach come back . . . and then freeze over, Hotch flinched. And then his eyes fell shut as he tried to again imagine what in God's name he was going to say to this woman, how he was going to explain that he had allowed this to happen.

And there was no mistake here when it came to fault.

His team . . . and their safety . . . they were his responsibility. He'd sensed that Derek was lying to them earlier and he should have called him on it. But he didn't. He'd allowed himself to be distracted by his concerns for Emily. Her physical security and how she was dealing emotionally with her friend's death. And this is where they ended up because of that distraction . . . in the fifth circle.

Next stop brain damaged amputee.

As Hotch took a slow breath, trying to get those terrible thoughts and images back under lock and key, he felt Emily tug him down to her chest. And as her arms tightly encircled his neck, and his her waist, she did what he couldn't.

Acknowledged the moment.

"We'll be right out Jayje," she called through the door, her voice as clear and steady as his had been a moment ago. His grip on her tightened. Then she rubbed his back comfortingly as she added. "I just need a minute."

And for that . . . for pretending to be weak so he could appear strong . . . Hotch felt a wave of possessiveness and need wash over him.

In moments like these he knew . . . this is the woman that he wanted with him always.

So as they heard JJ murmur "okay," and move away from the door, Hotch buried his face in Emily's neck. Then he kissed her throat.

"Thank you for that," he whispered.

"No thanks necessary," she murmured back with a sniffle, "you needed a minute . . ." she rubbed his back again, "so I took one for you."

As Hotch heard his own thoughts and feelings suddenly reflected back from this remarkable woman, this remarkable woman who was slowly stealing the best parts of him, he felt a renewal of his strength.

A renewal of his courage.

And he was reminded then, of what it meant to be in love. The things that were traded off . . . the things that you got in return.

He leaned back, lifting Emily from the cold tile as he clutched her tightly to his chest.

"Nobody else is going to get hurt," he whispered fiercely, "we'll keep them all together here at the hospital, and then under escort back to the Academy. And no matter what happens with Derek," Hotch took a breath to again clear the terrible images from his mind, "no matter what they have to do, we're going to take care of him. He'll have the best medical treatment, the best doctors, the best rehab," he paused as he thought back to the possible amputation, "the best prosthetics if it comes down to down to it. Somehow, I'll make this right again Emily," he rubbed his hand down her back as he breathed those two magical words into her ear.

"I promise."

Yes, those were all the promises that he it was foolish to be making . . . and yet he had made them anyway.

Because she took the minute for him.

A sad smile twisted Emily's lips as she nodded slowly against Hotch's shoulder.

"I believe you will," She whispered back.

And she did. She did because she knew from the strength of his voice, the urgency of his tone . . . he'd meant every word he'd said. And that belief . . . _his_ belief . . . was something to hold onto.

It was a way forward down the dark path.

"Okay then," he slowly lowered her to the floor, still holding her by the waist as he leaned back slightly to catch her eyes, "I need to go talk to Morgan's mother. Why don't you go wait with . . .?"

"I can come with you," she cut in somewhat anxiously as she wiped the remaining moisture from the corner of one eye, "you know, maybe I can help."

She just felt so guilty about everything that had happened. And she hated the idea of Hotch having to explain all of this alone. But then she felt him squeeze her hip.

"That's sweet of you to offer Emily, but," Hotch shook his head slowly, "I need to do this part alone."

Though the support would be nice in principle, in reality these conversations required complete privacy. If Derek's mother wanted to curse him for allowing this to happen then it would be nice . . . for all parties. . . to not have an audience for that moment.

Emily looked at Hotch for a moment. Then she reached up to cup her hands along on his jaw before she kissed him again.

"If you're sure," she murmured as she pulled away. And seeing him nod once more as he rubbed her hip, she sighed as her hands fell to his chest.

"Then I guess I'll go find Dave."

Or maybe she should talk to Spencer. This little bit of recuperative time with Hotch had made her feel better. Not all better . . . she let him pull her into a hug . . . but enough that she could probably limp through the social niceties with Reid that she hadn't been able to earlier. He was hurting too.

And she owed him that much.

That was the thought still rolling around in her head as she and Hotch stepped out into the corridor a second later. Then she gave his fingers a quick . . . subtle squeeze, it was behind his back . . . before she let him walk away.

She waited for a moment longer, watching as he continued quickly down the hall to the small crowd stopped by the elevator. They were finishing up the security check in.

As Hotch stepped up to the group, from the distance Emily could see him move in next to JJ, waiting for Mrs. Morgan to finish clipping on the visitor's badge. There was a doctor . . . perhaps a nurse, it was a person in blue scrubs that Emily hadn't had any contact with yet . . . standing by her side, saying something in her ear.

Perhaps it was an update, perhaps she was explaining the doctor would be out in a minute. Either way Mrs. Morgan nodded slowly right before she lifted her head. Hotch was in front of her, putting his arm up, saying something . . . most likely asking her to come with him for a moment . . . but she was just looking at him. And then Emily saw the next part in slow motion, her eyes widening as she saw Mrs. Morgan's arm come up . . . and before anybody could do anything to stop her.

She'd slapped Hotch across the face.

* * *

_A/N 2: You ever crawl to a finish line? That was me finishing this chapter. This was supposed to go up by Monday, but then I went to the dentist (an appointment I'd forgotten when I said Monday) and he drilled into my face. And then I had migraines for the next 2-3 days. Then I started trying to proof again, but I was so damn tired from the headaches I could only do like 4 pages a night (usually I bang through a final proof in one LONG sitting) so I had to keep stopping. It was SOOOO frustrating! The good thing though with the epically long final proof, was that I ended up adding like another 3000 words! So yes, there was an unexpected delay, but you got almost twice as much to read than you would have otherwise. So go migraine delays! Maybe :)_

_It wasn't intentional that in essence most of the chapter just alternated straight Emily POV, and then straight Hotch POV. It just really kind of worked for the flow so that's how I decided to keep it._

_And now you know how Derek ended up a target. He was nosing around where he wasn't supposed to be. And really, who thinks Morgan would have just minded his own damn business in a situation like this?  
_

_I've never written Mrs. Morgan before, and I have only the vaguest of memories of her onscreen. But I figure, there's going to be some anger there, and Hotch is going to be the likely target for it. It doesn't matter how old your child is, he's still your child. And this was the man that was supposed to be watching out for her boy. And then Garcia, again, with her attachment to Derek, I think her anger over what happened, that he could die, would need an outlet. And Emily is a logical one given that it all started with her. I'm sure they'll work it out though :) _

_And see, I'm making an effort to pull in the whole team! Not sure how long I can keep that up, but at least one more chapter._

_The next scene is clear in my head and I don't want to lose the thread (there's a certain rhythm to this story that's hard to get back into when I let myself get out of it) so I'm going to try and bang that out in the short term. This won't be the next post though, there are many other things people are asking me about :) but I'll try and get it up this month. _

_Next posting will be somewhere in the Girl'verse. And after I go make something to eat, I'm going to blow the dust off all the chapters nearly ready to post and see if I can get any of them up this weekend. _

_As always, thanks for any and all reviews and feedback you might have dropped on my stories. I try to get to everybody but you know emails slide down the page so quickly that it doesn't always happen and then I feel badly when I find them later. So if you ever hear back from me 3 months after you dropped a note, please know I wasn't just being a schmuck. Simply trying to juggle all aspects of my life :)_

_**Prompts Announcement – Assistance Requested:**_

_Last thing, Kavi and I got an idea to try something different in the TV forum. We've found some good "picture/photograph" prompts, so we'd like to meld them with an actual PHOTOGRAPH challenge! We thought it was good time given that the cast members have been posting new pics pretty regularly so there are a ton out there now. We thought this would be fun. I have no idea if anybody else is doing this (we're a bit out of the loop, sorry :) ) but anyway, as we're not perhaps as plugged into all the same sites as other people might be, so we're soliciting for good photo ideas from you, kind readers/writers. So any real life pictures (and we're looking for RL ones, not show clips, we might do show clips at a later date) that you think would make fun prompts please drop one of us a note. Either a PM or you can send me a tweet. _

_And the pictures aren't just limited to H/P of course, really we're looking for anything unique or sweet or whatever you see that you think would give a creative boost to people's imaginations. I have a really cute TG, MGG one that I saw that I'd like to use. Really, anything that catch's your fancy. We're going to pull together maybe a dozen and then put the prompts up with them. It's just a little summer twist. _

_Anyway, that's all folks! _


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